


Fermat's Last Theorem

by Drakey



Series: Fermat's Last Theorem [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Crossover, Data being Data, F/M, Gen, Infinity War, M/M, Mathematical Puzzles, Multi, Nerds Getting Turned On By Intelligence, Prime Directive (Star Trek), TNG Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakey/pseuds/Drakey
Summary: An experiment gone wrong catapults theEnterprise,severely damaged, into another universe. With no Federation to turn to, no Starfleet to support them, and no idea what to expect from encounters with local civilizations, the crew are grasping at straws trying to understand the universe they're in. It's a strange place; a huge concentration of a rare element in eastern Africa, a pair of powerful singularities in New York, and locals more colorful than anything they expected.But, their mission remains the same: explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations, boldly go where no one has gone before.





	Fermat's Last Theorem

**Author's Note:**

> This was written entirely on my phone, so I officially blame any spelling mistakes or similar oddities on autocorrect.

"That's the thing," mumbled Wesley as Will Riker walked away. "I wanted to cause some trouble." He glanced down at the panel in front of him, the bright LCARS interface still blinking its annoying _permission denied_ message. It wasn't like the modifications to the warp field would cause any damage. It was just that the ship was running at low warp through an area of space that played host to a rare and mysterious subspace eddie. The realspace shadows of the phenomenon made for a spectacular light show in local night skies, but the real attraction was the fact that the local disturbance had a habit of reversing the "direction" it "rotated" at random. 

It mostly made for an interesting display when the redshift of stars seen through the eddie changed unexpectedly, but Wesley suspected he could induce a reversal by flashing a wave across the _Enterprise's_ shields opposite their direction of travel so that it would create a spike directed at the eddie... Well, it was complex. The point was, it would let him win an argument about subspace physics with the chief engineer of the _Milwaukee,_ and it would impress the Academy for when he took his entrance exam in a few months.

"What if I get Lieutenant La Forge to run it?" Commander Riker stopped short.

"Why are you so set on this?" He asked.

Wesley stared at the deckplate for a moment. "I've been arguing with Ensign Kovar again," he admitted. "This would be a physical proof of the Tucker Conjecture. Kovar says the Tucker Conjecture doesn't apply to macrostructural subspace topographies above the third-"

"Okay, please don't explain it all. Your long-distance arguments give me a headache. I'll show it to Geordi. If he decides to run it, I'll have him tell you the results." Riker left the room, and Wesley grinned like he'd won crewman of the year.

+----+

Tasha jumped very slightly when the stars shifted. It was a minor change, the blurring of the stars from their warp-two transit across the sector changing color, reds a little more absent, blues more prominent. A spare few moments later, the whole ship began to shake. She jumped to her feet, running for the double doors with the Starfleet emblem etched in the glass, but wasn't even halfway out of ten-forward before the shaking built to a wrenching. Tasha helped as the internal gravity failed.

Suddenly, "down" was a much more abstract concept. The stars stilled outside, and whirled slowly as the ship dropped out of warp, yawing to starboard and rolling gently to the same direction, so that the stars slipped and twisted outside the viewport. The subspace eddie they were passing came into view as the lights flickered, and Tasha watched in disbelief. 

The phenomenon was supposed to be visible only as a light distortion of space beyond it, spectacular when observing planets and stars at extreme magnification, but dull to the naked eye. Instead, a brilliant aroura shimmered in space, layers of light and shadow glowing the shining blue of Cherenkov radiation in a Gordian knot of burning void. 

When the shockwave hit, it was almost serene, like a light washing over the ship. A wall of blue light rushed over them, and Tasha was thrown hard where she floated. She'd been pushed a more-or-less random direction, and she collided with Crewman Boise moments before they both slammed into a table and then the transaluminum viewport. People's food and drinks were cannonballing all over, splattering on the bulkheads and deck, and it was only made worse when the gravity turned back on. Suddenly everyone and everything fell back to the floor. As Tasha stood up, she listened to the sounds of the ship starting back up.

A low rumble from below told her something had gone seriously wrong. Something was burning nearby. Alarms were wailing. She slapped her combadge, but nothing happened. 

+----+

"As far as we can tell, sir, Wesley's experiment caused the eddie to reverse direction and expand through our warp field." Geordi was still sporting a nasty gash above his left eye, covered with a bandage instead of repaired with a dermal regenerator. Worf grunted irritably. 

"The boy should not have been allowed to perform the experiment." Worf glared challengingly at Riker. "Why was he?"

"The experiment was not theoretically dangerous," Data supplied from next to Geordi. "There was no indication of this result in any of the mathematical models."

"Then what the hell just happened?" Captain Picard asked. "We're missing communications, the docking clamps between the saucer and drive sections are fused, one of the warp coils is completely burnt out, and the entire dorsal phaser array exploded! My quarters are open to space and people are dead. I want to know more than just that it shouldn't have happened."

Tasha shook her head. "Where is Wesley, anyway?"

"He was on deck three," Riker said grimly. "Doctor Crusher says he's stable."

"But still unconscious," Geordi filled in.

Riker nodded. "Exactly. Captain, the damage is too extensive to repair without a shipyard. The closest shipyard that can do the job is in Sector 001. Utopia Planetia can fix us, but we'll take more than a month to get there."

Picard leaned back. "Work on getting communications back. We'll go back to Earth. Mister Data, I want you to work with Wesley once he's conscious again. Let's see if we can't figure out exactly what went wrong."

+----+

"Well now that's different."

Vision turned to regard Tony cooly. "Please clarify, Mister Stark."

Tony leaned back in his seat, expanding out a hologram of... Something. He rotated it between his hands, peering at it skeptically.

"It appears to be a three-dimensional extrusion of a seventh-"

"Seventh-dimensional hyperspiral," Tony confirmed. "Yeah. That's what Jane Foster thought. I'm just wondering what caused it."

Vision stared at him. "Do you mean to tell me this is an existing, visible phenomenon?"

Tony pursed his lips and nodded. He made a throwing motion, and the hologram sailed over to Vision. Vision inspected the image. Tony went on, "it showed up early yesterday morning as a hard redshift coming out of Gemini. It spent three hours climbing through the visible spectrum, hung out at a nice Cherenkov blue for about nine minutes, and then ran up through ultraviolet and gamma. The whole thing took about seven hours. Apparently, it was about fifty light years away."

"This is very interesting," Vision replied. "That would seem to suggest a nine minute event, visually transmitted at many times the speed of light along a moving subdimensional... Ah. I see the reason for your concern."

"You mean how it looks like something twisted the fabric of space hard enough to break it and then headed for Earth?" Tony shuddered. "For all we know, Loki's ugly friends decided to invade the hard way."

+----+

"Um... What the hell is that?"

MJ pointed up at the sky as she asked the question. Peter tracked the bright point across the sky as it zipped along, moving way faster than anything that bright usually did.

"That's either very big or hyperreflecting." He held out his hand for the binoculars. "And it looks sorta ovoid, so lemme see if I can get a better look with those."

MJ handed them over. Peter held them up and found the object, blurry and indistinct, but noticeably silver-white. He turned the focus knob, and the image sharpened slowly, until...

"JesusAllahBhuddaNielDeGrasseTysonBillNye," Peter breathed as he saw it.

MJ grabbed the binoculars and looked. "I think everyone owes David Drake a drink," she said weakly.

"We've lived through an alien invasion and a robot apocalypse," Peter argued. "We probably shouldn't be too surprised by now." His heart wasn't really in it, though.

Somehow, it wasn't what he'd expected. The ship was distinctly eggshell white. It seemed to be built with a specific sense of up and down in mind, and although Peter couldn't be certain which was which, he thought he had seen from the top, though not directly on. It had been rolled about thirty degrees off of true, it looked like. The shape had been remarkable, a rounded disc at what seemed to be the front, connected by some sort of strut to another, smaller section, which in turn was connected to a pair of long tubes, each capped with a red glow and bisected by brilliant blue.

MJ handed the binoculars back. Peter found the ship again and stared. There was a sparkle about it that might be windows, but it was almost impossible to tell. Dark streaks and smudges marred the hull, and a ring of black marked the top of the disc. "They're damaged," Peter noted absently. "There's burn marks all over them. I... I have to make a call."

MJ took the binoculars back as Peter pulled out his phone. He glanced at the ship, gauging its motion as he dialed Happy's phone number.

The phone rang a few times before Happy picked up. "What do you want, kid?" He growled amiably. "It's one in the morning."

"Are you in New York?" Peter asked.

"No, Boston," Happy said.

"Look outside, about thirty degrees off the horizon to the west," Peter said.

There were some noises, and then Happy said, "there's some bright light moving fast."

"Mister Stark needs to get a telescope on that right now. It's a spaceship."

MJ perked up a little. Happy grunted, "you're serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious," Peter said. "I would never lie about aliens."

Happy grumbled something rude, but he promised to have a telescope pointed at the ship.

Peter watched the ship until it crossed the horizon, which didn't take long. About ten minutes later, he was startled to see it breach the horizon again. He trained the binoculars on it and stared as it presented a new aspect. It was powering away from them, the blue glow of its apparently-slightly-flattened maybe-engines joined by a lozenge of red on the strut between the sections. 

They had altered course by aiming their ship and applying physics-bending amounts of force to move almost straight towards the moon. It was such an extravagant display of power and sophistication that it almost had to have been done casually. This must be standard maneuvering for them.

Five minutes after the ship vanished behind the moon, Iron Man arrived. Peter jumped to attention, and MJ gave him and the superhero in front of him both considering looks as Iron Man said "get in, kid," and the suit opened up to reveal it was empty. 

"I get to put on the suit?" Peter exclaimed. He made an undignified noise that he didn't much care about and climbed in. "This is the coolest day ever!"

"Don't ever let go of that hero worship," the suit put in. "I'm borrowing your boyfriend, miss. Get home safe, now."

"Oh," MJ said. "We, uh... We're not dating. Like, we haven't really put a label on it, 'cause labels are a tool of the heteronormative narrative and imply a procreational agenda and an attached romantic obligation."

The suit finished closing around Peter and adapting to his shape while MJ spoke. It spoke up again in Tony Stark's voice: "that sounds... I'm not gonna lie, that's the most liberal-arts thing anyone has ever said to me, and I own an art gallery in Portland, Oregon."

MJ flipped off the suit, which Peter assumed was meant for both himself and Mister Stark. As the suit took off, with him not actually able to see much or have much fun with it since he was just a passenger, Mister Stark spoke up again. "So, does she like you, or are you, like, hitting that, or what's going on there?"

"We make out sometimes," Peter said. "This might be cool enough that we'll do more, but MJ isn't usually like that, so, I kinda doubt it. We're gonna have kind of a conversation about it, though. I can tell. That was I'm-gonna-bother-you-about-this face."

"Huh," Mister Stark said. "Well, that's all very complicated and oh dear god I'm glad I'm not a teenager anymore. So, any idea what our space friends are up to? They went off to go hide behind the moon in an awful hurry, and I'd love to know why."

"I have no idea, Mister Stark, but maybe we can work together to figure it out."

+----+

Wesley stared at the faces around the conference table. Captain Picard looked exhausted. Lieutenant Yar was staring at Data while he juggled several tasks. Geordi had dark circles peering out from beneath his visor, and Worf was ragged, his eyes fixed on the moon's surface outside the window. Commander Riker leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes while Counselor Troi tried to look like the stress of everyone on the ship wasn't getting to her. Wesley's mother was taking a long rest under the captain's orders. She wasn't really needed for this meeting, anyway.

"It looks like Earth in the early twenty-first century," Captain Picard said, "except that our best estimates insist we should be witnessing the nuclear exchanges of the second Eugenics War. Theories?"

"It is possible we have entered a parallel universe," Data conjectured, setting aside one PADD and picking up another. "I did not witness the event that put us here myself, as it shut down my systems, however, the descriptions offered by several crew members are consistent with various theoretical methods for transverse travel across an established multiversal system. This would not explain the temporal component of our displacement, but it does fit other observed facts."

"That still means we have no way to repair our damage or get home," Tasha complained.

"Not necessarily," Geordi said. "Take a look at this." He stood up and activated the screen on the wall. The globe appeared, then the screen zeroed in on eastern Africa, right around Lake Turkana. A series of technical readouts showed up, depicting power readings and sensor returns that had convoluted subspace components.

"Is that dilithium alloy?" Wesley asked quietly.

Geordi nodded. "Yes. There's also evidence of duranium and tritanium. It's like someone down there is refining exotic materials, but they'd need tricobalt to manage it."

"Did we detect tricobalt?" Riker asked.

Geordi nodded. "Yes sir, but I'm a little hesitant to believe these readings." He tapped a few controls and the spectra of the sensor readings came up. Picard let out a low whistle. Riker made a choking noise. 

"That is a fairly implausible reading," Data admitted. "It would seem to suggest that there are several billion tons of tricobalt present on Earth at this time."

"There aren't several hundred _kilograms_ of tricobalt in the known galaxy!" Picard objected. "I refuse to believe that there is mountain of it in eastern Africa!"

"We can't be certain," Wesley said, "until we check closer in. A shuttlecraft could get in undetected."

"With the technology we're expecting on Earth at this time, that's true." Geordi allowed, "but we don't know if that's the level of technology we'll actually encounter. Materials science shouldn't get up to tritanium for another two hundred years, for example."

"Nevertheless, there is no evidence of significant spaceflight or energy-manipulation technology," Data argued. "I believe it will be safe."

Captain Picard frowned. "I want a mission profile for that shuttlecraft recon in three hours. I could swear there's something else that could help us, but I have to look it up first. You're all dismissed."

+----+

Jean-Luc ran his eyes over the information again. It was the very age of the artifact that made him suspect it existed here. Something so far back in the mists of time was more likely to be a part of the ancient, ground-in facts of reality that the two universes had in common. It was supposed to be older than Sol itself, and its existence was a closely-guarded secret. But it was just possible that the Guardian could help them. He might be questioned for making the decision, but if it got his people home, he would accept the consequences.

He started planning.

+----+

Deanna breathed a sigh of quiet defeat. "We can assume we were spotted," she admitted. "By our definition, we've already broken the Prime Directive. A lot of the crew are starting to think we should ask whoever is down there for help instead of trying to fix this ourselves."

Will squeezed his eyes shut, stroking his fingers over his forehead and then down his face. After all the damage to the ship, everyone had given up some luxuries. Will hadn't shaved in days, and was starting to get stubbly. "It's definitely a problem brewing," he agreed grudgingly, "but we can't let discipline break down."

Deanna shook her head. "A hundred and fifty-three people died, Will. The crew is shaken, and many of them feel like the _Enterprise_ is falling apart around them. We're lost in another universe, and we have no way to make contact with Starfleet or get back home without help."

Will opened his mouth to reply, but his combadge let out a little chirp and Worf's voice came through. "Commander, our sensors have found something unusual. Please report to the bridge."

Will and Deanna exchanged a worried glance. "I'm on my way," Will said. He cut off the communication and turned to Deanna. "Come with me." They headed out of the Counselor's quarters together, Will speaking as they went. "You dont think we have the potential for a mutiny on our hands?"

"I doubt it, but we must be careful." Captain Picard rounded the corner in front of them as they headed for the turbolift.

"Something wrong, Commander?" Picard asked as they entered the lift. He was clutching a PADD, looking unsettled.

"Discussing morale, sir," Will said. "Deanna tells me the crew wants to go down there and negotiate with whoever has the tricobalt."

"That would be a violation of the Prime Directive," Picard objected.

The lift opened on the bridge. "It would be, and we can't do it, obviously, but we should investigate further. Maybe the Prime Directive doesn't apply as much as we think." Will turned towards Data as the lieutenant-commander approached across the bridge. 

"Sirs," Data gestured to the viewscreen, which was displaying a map of the Earth. "We have detected a pair of pinpoint energy sources on the planet. Both are in the Greater New York Metropolitan Area. They emit distinct signals. One emits powerful chroniton flux and seems to be associated with minor temporal distortions in the area. The other is mobile. We are currently tracking it moving at twenty seven meters per second south, at six thousand ninety-six meters above sea level. It is accompanied by two other lower-density power sources consistent with a Gorn-style arc reactor."

Picard stared at the screen. "Gorn... Very well. My decision is made. Number One, the ship is yours. I am the only one here with clearance to follow the lead I intend to check up on. Investigate these energy sources, and check up on the strange readings in Africa. Don't get caught, but use all the resources you need. Our top priority is the Prime Directive, but we must be vigilant for other interference. I will be taking a heavy shuttlecraft. I expect I'll return in two weeks."

"Sir," Will began, but Picard waved him off.

"No objections, Number One. You have your orders." As the captain turned and walked out, he muttered "and I only hope I survive mine."

+----+

Peter shuddered slightly. He'd learned, since the whole... Vulture unpleasantness... To trust the chills that sometimes ran down his spine. He looked around and tried to focus on what was around him. The press and bustle of New York was sometimes enough to conceal people when they were good at hiding.

The man watching Peter from the sidewalk was very bad at hiding. He kept pointing his weird smartphone at Peter, then at 177a Bleeker Street, which Mister Stark said was one of the places to keep an eye on and stop any burglars.

He was pale and twitchy, with a vacantly inoffensive look on his face, a big nose, and _super freaky_ pale eyes. He also gave Peter the worst heebie jeebies he'd ever had.

"What do you think, Karen?"

"He's no tourist," the suit AI answered. 

"Tell Mister Stark I'm investigating," Peter said. He jumped, webbed the smartphone, and yanked it out of the man's hand.

He tried to, anyway. The man gripped the thing tightly and braced himself the instant the webline hit it, wrapping the web around his hand with a twist. Peter's yank pulled him off balance, but he outweighed Peter by much more than expected, and he simply stepped backward in a quick one-two-three almost-stumble and Peter wound up slinging himself hard into the thankfully-empty street behind the man.

"Whoah," someone said nearby. "Spider-Man just faceplanted!" People were already clearing out as Peter struggled to his feet. He turned to fix his eyes on the pale, too-heavy man. He still had the man's hand wrapped up in a webline, as the man stood braced firmly, watching him cautiously.

"Alright," Peter tried, "who are you?"

"I apologize, I am unfamiliar with the local customs. Is this what is referred to as a 'mugging'?" The man made no move to disentangle his hand.

Peter tried not to look too taken aback. The Daily Bugle was going to have a field day with this. "Spider-Menace Mugs Mild-Mannered Innocent." He could see the headline now. 

"Oh come on," Peter said, "you're obviously up to something. Pointing your little... Thingy... At me, and at that building..." He gestured illustratively at 177 Bleeker. 

"Is my behavior disruptive?" The man was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but he was wearing them like they were a military uniform, his stance all stiff posture and unyielding steadfastness. Peter couldn't help wishing he had Flash's gift for talking instead of his own gift for getting bug bites and having a surreal life.

A car honked at Peter. He hurried awkwardly forward to the sidewalk. "Look, just let me see what you're doing and we can clear this up, but right now, this? Ultra-suspicious."

"I cannot allow you to have this device," the man said. "I apologize, but nothing can be done about that. May I ask a question?"

Peter blinked. He was glad the man couldn't see it. While the stranger waited patiently for an answer, the suit AI spoke up. "Peter, Mister Stark sends his regards and says that the resident of 177a Bleeker Street is now coming to investigate."

No sooner had Karen finished speaking than the door opened up and a man in a red cape and blue robes stepped out, a well-trimmed beard framing his tight scowl. "Wow," Peter blurted. "You look just like that actor, what's his name... Border-war Cowabunga!"

"I do not understand," the pale stranger said.

"I'm sorry, what," the newcomer added.

"Sorry, doesn't matter," Peter mumbled as the caped man stepped forward, gestured, and suddenly, the world around them was twisting and fractured. Peter's head began to hurt almost immediately.

"You may release him, Spider-Man," the caped stranger said. His voice was deep and rich, and commanding. Peter moved to release the web, but the pale man reached over and tore it casually from his hand. Peter quietly added extreme strength to the worryingly-incomplete list of the man's unknown abilities. 

"Given your display of unusual abilities, sir, I suspect you may be in possession of an unusual item," the pale man said. "Do you know anything about localized temporal disturbances?"

"Temporal... Like, time?" Peter said.

"Indeed," the pale stranger said.

The caped man sighed. "Perhaps you had better come in. You as well, Spider-Man. It is time we met. I am Doctor Steven Strange." He turned to the pale stranger expectantly.

The pale man twitched his head to the side. "I suspect this invitation is compulsory for me?" Strange nodded. The pale man pursed his lips, looked around, and shrugged. "You may call me Data. Am I to call you Spider-Man, sir?"

Peter stared at "Data" for a moment. He nodded, feeling completely out of his depth.

Doctor Strange started into the building. When they passed through the door, the world stopped twisting and distorting around them. Peter sighed in relief. "Why are you seeking the Eye of Agamotto?" Doctor Strange asked.

"I am uncertain if that is what I am seeking," Data said. "Does the Eye of Agamotto distort time and emit energy?"

Doctor Strange looked at Data like he'd grown an extra head. "Yes," he confirmed. "What are you?"

Data remained silent. Peter scrutinized him carefully for a moment. He _still_ gave Peter what Aunt May would call "collywobbles," and Peter still couldn't figure out why.

"Please, don't insult my intelligence by claiming to be human," Strange went on after a few awkward moments of silence. "I just watched you beat Spider-Man's reflexes and tear his web with your bare hands. Your skin tone is flatter than any human being's, your pulse has the wrong rhythm, your eyes are a color that doesn't occur naturally in anyone, and the tendons in your hands are too narrow." He stepped closer, staring at Data's eyes. "I'll repeat my question: what are you?"

"I... Cannot say," Data replied.

"Can't say, or don't know?" Strange pressed. He took a few steps closer to Data.

"When you say he's not human," Peter interrupted, "are we talking about an alien?"

"I was going to suggest a demon or god." Doctor Strange looked Data up and down. "Possibly some sort of elf or fairy, I suppose."

"Wait, you believe in fairies? I mean, gods, yeah, like Thor, but fairies?"

"Pardon me, but why is my being a god more plausible than being a fairy?"

Peter and Doctor Strange both turned to look at Data as though they had forgotten he was a problem they had to deal with. Admittedly, that might have been Peter projecting a bit. He knew he'd gotten distracted, after all.

"Thor himself was involved in several major events in the last few years. Loki tried to invade New York. There were dark elves in England. I ask again, what are you?"

"I... Am an artificial life form," Data said carefully, "but I will not reveal more than that."

"Wait, you're a robot?" Peter gasped. "I didn't think anyone had robots that good!" His voice cracked a little on the last word. Doctor Strange turned a curious look on him.

"How old are you? I thought you were at least twenty."

"He is approximately fifteen years old," Data said helpfully.

Peter glared at him. "Dude!"

"'Dude?'" Data repeated.

"Dude! Way to not be a bro!"

"You expect me to behave like your sibling?" Data sketched a confused look.

"Why do you think I wear a mask, man? You can't go telling people details about me!" Peter waved his hands in exasperation, and Data opened his mouth, seemed to think better of his reply, and shut it again, cutting a look back at Doctor Strange.

"I'm sorry, why are you out of school? It's eleven AM." Doctor Strange gave Peter a withering look, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"It's an in-service day in like, half the state, dude. There's teenagers everywhere. It's a total hellscape."

"Should I point out that you are a teenager?" Strange asked.

Peter fixed a level gaze on him. "Would you want to hang out with dozens of me?"

Data watched the exchange with apparent interest. After a few moments of silence, he interjected, "may I observe the Eye of Agamotto in person?"

"No," Doctor Strange said at the same time as Peter said "please."

Doctor Strange gave Peter a disappointed look. Peter shrugged. "I wanna see the cool time-eye. Maybe while you explain how he could be a fairy."

"The fairies are angry since I performed some rude wizardry in their realm. He may be a weapon, or a thief."

"Wizard... You are not using magic." Peter glared at Strange. "That's just not a thing."

Doctor Strange huffed a put-upon sigh held up his hands. They shook, a rapid-but-small tremor. He gestured in wide, sweeping motions as lines of light and energy formed at his command, filled with sigils and arcane geometries. He manipulated the sigils for a few moments while they made high, thin whistling sounds.

"Mister Stark uses holograms all the time," Peter argued.

"I must agree with Spider-Man," Data said. "Magic seems unlikely. Under what circumstances did the Norse god Thor appear?"

Peter sighed. "He was banished from Asgard, proved his worthiness to regain his hammer, and later joined up with the Avengers when the Chitauri invaded New York."

Data tilted his head to the side. "The Chitauri? Natives of the planet Chi Taurus Five?"

"Um... Maybe?" Peter gave a lost look to Doctor Strange. "Can we get back to talking about the magic time-eye?"

Doctor Strange sighed. "I have no reason to trust you, Data, and the Eye of Agamotto is a powerful artifact, very easy to misuse."

"May I observe it from a distance and ask you about it?" Data asked. "It may be important to solving several puzzles for myself and my colleagues."

Doctor Strange looked between Peter and Data. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Very well. If you approach within ten feet of it, however, I will remove you from the Sanctum. Violently." He swept out of the room, up a staircase. Peter and Data followed.

Doctor Strange led them through a luxuriously appointed interior that definitively did not fit inside of the building. "This space is larger than the outside of the building would suggest," Data observed as they passed through a gallery of strange artifacts. They came to one that was mounted on a slightly-nicer pedestal, and he aimed his not-a-smartphone at it.

"The Eye of Agamotto," Strange intoned ominously.

"It would appear to be a zero-point singularity contained within a bronze superstructure and a crystalline shell," Data said.

"Oh," Peter mumbled, "is that all? Does anything impress you?"

"I do not experience emotions," Data said.

"That sounds nice," Peter and Strange chimed together.

"That assumption is erroneous," Data answered evenly, studying his device. "It is neither nice nor unpleasant. It is simply fact. I am curious about the experience of having emotions, but without them, I feel neither dissatisfaction nor relief."

Peter and Doctor Strange exchanged understanding looks. Data closed his doodad and slipped it into a pocket, turning towards Doctor Strange. "How did you come to possess this object?"

"It was in the collection of the Sorceror Supreme at Kamar Taj. I unlocked its secrets and used it to defeat Dormammu."

"Am I to understand that its secrets are not to be shared with outsiders?"

Doctor Strange peered at Data with one eyebrow raised. "You haven't told me your origin, purpose, or resources. I have no reason to share with you."

"Aw, but Doc, sharing is caring," Peter quipped.

"Would you be willing to tell me what you used it to do, while omitting the technical details?" Data looked mildly at the sorceror.

"I reversed time and created a time loop. I can also use it to speed up time."

"That... Does suggest a great deal of potential for abuse. Thank you for answering my questions." Data turned to Peter. "I hope you are uninjured."

Peter shrugged. His shoulders and neck hurt like hell, but it was already fading, and he'd had much worse. "I'll be fine."

"Very well. I would like to leave, now." Data turned towards the exit. Peter was about to agree with him when Karen spoke up.

"Peter, Mister Stark is calling you."

"Really, Karen? Now?" Doctor Strange gave Peter a surprised look, but Data seemed to have heard Karen just fine.

The little window with Tony Stark's face in it appeared in Peter's vision. "Peter, great. Look, your friend there might be associated with our visitors. You need to detain him."

Data reached a hand into his pocket, and something made a chirping noise. _"Enterprise,_ I am being apprehended by locals. Please advise me."

"What do they know?" Asked a voice from some device in Data's pocket.

"They discovered that I am not human, and they are aware that I am gathering information about the energy source. They know that we were aware of the temporal distortions it causes without having witnessed them firsthand."

"You've been busy," Data's pocket said. "We lost track of you a few minutes ago. What happened?"

"Some of the locals seem to command considerable power. Additionally, there was apparently an invasion by the Chitauri, although I do not know if they are referring to the Chitauri we are familiar with. I have been told that beings calling themselves Thor and Loki have used the world as their battlefield. There was a mention of Dark Elves, as well. From context, this may correlate with the presence of Thor and Loki, as all are from a common mythological canon."

"And the people trying to hold you?"

Peter looked at Doctor Strange. "Should we be letting him do this?"

"It gives us more information, and we have the advantage. We can afford to be gracious," Doctor Strange said. "He cannot leave this place against our will, in any case."

"That's a neat trick," Peter said.

"Can you get out of sight?" Data's pocket asked.

"Yes, sir," Data replied.

"I believe the plan suggests itself, then," his pocket concluded.

"Indeed, sir," Data said, and Peter's spider-sense went nuts.

Data didn't change his stance. He didn't take a moment to assess his position. He just suddenly became a threat, and then he _moved._ Peter was about five feet in the air when Data moved, and As fast as the robot moved, he would have grabbed him if he'd gone after Peter, but he didn't.

He lunged for Doctor Strange, instead, catching the Sorceror at a nerve cluster before he could react. Strange dropped to the ground, and Data ran.

Peter hadn't expected him to run, but he reacted quickly, shooting a webline at him. It stuck on Data's back, and Peter pulled.

Data was heavy, his frame packed more densely than expected, and the section of the wall Peter was clinging to creaked and began to buckle, but Data was pulled off his feet. Peter jumped down and attached a few more weblines. Data evaded several shots, but one caught him in the face.

Peter pulled again and was surprised when Data followed the pull, reaching up to clear his eyes but running towards Peter at a genuinely alarming speed. 

Peter backpedaled, and yelled "electric webs!" but by the time he was halfway through the second word, Data had dropped the web from his face, and his thick jacket was protecting him from the electric webs. He reached Peter, and he struck, launching a series of lightning-fast punches. Peter ducked and wove entirely on instinct until Data forced him to dodge too far to the left and caught him with a knockdown blow to the temple.

Peter's world went fuzzy for a moment as Data ran again, pulling his jacket free of the webs. The shot had clearly been intended to knock Peter out, but Data hadn't counted on Peter being as tough as he was. He might have assumed Peter was trying to be impressive, or that he'd just gotten lucky when he hit the street.

To be fair, Peter wasn't exactly having fun. He was almost certain he had a concussion. He yelped "web grenade!" and fired off his web shooters.

Data was covered in the webs. He began to tear at the strands as Peter approached. "This is an intriguing substance," he noted conversationally. Several of the strands parted, and by the time Peter was steady on his feet again, Data was mostly free. "Is it meant to imitate spiderwebs?"

"Man, supervillains aren't usually friendly like this," Peter said.

Data wrenched himself free and bolted for the nearest hallway. Peter ran to chase him, but Data was faster, and he made it around the next corner. There was a whistling hum, and when Peter rounded the corner, Data was gone. There was no exit for him to have taken-he was just... Gone.

+----+

Geordi touched the controls and eased the shuttlecraft down a little further. Just because the shields had been configured to deflect radar didn't mean it was a good idea to go tempting fate.

"Do you have any idea how this much tricobalt could have gotten here?" Ensign Juarez asked.

Geordi shook his head. "I can speculate. The amount and position indicates an ancient asteroid strike, probably millions of years ago. Maybe even pre-Cambrian. But I've never seen anything to indicate that tricobalt exists naturally in deposits this size." He turned to look at the ensign. "When it does occur in nature, it's usually in stellar coronal mass ejections, and then it's tricobalt-213, which breaks down through trilithium and all the transuranics until it eventually turns into iron. You have to refine that stuff to get stable enough tricobalt to use as an explosive, and they have a mountain or two of it that's stable enough to use as a construction material." He turned back to his controls. "I almost have to believe it's artificial, but who would synthesize that much tricobalt?"

"Probably someone who isn't around anymore," Juarez said. She poked at her own controls for a moment and then sputtered abruptly, "sir, we're being followed!" She sent the sensor readout to his console.

"How in the hell?" Geordi poked at the sensor controls. "They have a lock on us. Look, they aren't tracking us visually. What sensors are they using?"

Juarez shrugged. "It doesn't matter, sir. I'll lose them." Her fingers began to fly over the console, and the shuttlecraft twisted off at a mildly insane angle. The engines whined, and the shuttle snapped through the sound barrier on the way to hypersonic speeds. It was going to strain the hell out of the systems, but Geordi was confident of their escape until they were nailed in rapid succession by a dozen bolts of energy.

They were in trouble anyway. A type six shuttlecraft was not a warship, and while the shields could do some cool stuff, they were perfectly awful in actual combat. Already strained from running through the atmosphere at mach six, twelve directed-energy bolts was about three more than it could take. After the first burst, they were out of range, but it was all Geordi could do to apply reverse thrust for the two seconds before the shields blew out. In that time, the shuttle dropped enough speed that it met its suddenly-approaching bow shockwave at only two and a half times the speed of sound.

Sadly, that still exceeded the tolerances of the shuttlecraft's hull by about three times.

The front of the shuttlecraft blew in, and the last thing Geordi thought was that cultures that developed duranium before warp drive had been known to fight off entire empires trying to invade their worlds, and he was looking at twenty-first century humans sitting on a tricobalt reserve that could propel a world to galactic domination by accident.

He should never have entered the atmosphere.

+----+

Jean-Luc turned off the communications channel to the _Enterprise_ and leaned back in his seat. The line had been nothing but static for about twenty minutes, and he couldn't listen to it anymore.

He only hoped his crew was alright.

+----+

"All told, it could have gone better." Commander Riker leaned back in his seat. Geordi and Juarez were probably dead, and their shuttle was scattered across a huge piece of the African countryside.

"You don't intend to give up looking for them, do you, sir?" Tasha frowned across the table at Riker.

"Of course not." Riker sighed. "It's just very frustrating. Data got caught and barely escaped, two of the crew may be dead, and I have to figure out a way to retrieve all the debris from a type six shuttle without stretching the Prime Directive any further."

"This problem does appear intractable," Data admitted. "Their knowledge base and technology are sufficient to detect us, and we do not fully understand their abilities. May I suggest investigating them to find more intelligence?"

"This business about Thor and Loki is disturbing," Doctor Crusher said. "A lot of cultures have been duped into worshipping technologically-advanced aliens in the past."

"But Thor seems to be acting as a defender," Wesley put in. "And this Spider-Man person seems to be something entirely different."

"The scans that Data took of Spider-Man are definitely human," Doctor Crusher said, "but there was a surprising amount of radiation in his system, as well as a host of other abnormalities. The extraordinary abilities he demonstrated are probably related."

"We need more information, but we can't get caught again." Riker sighed. "We'll launch probes. There's a small chance they'll be detected, but if we rig them to self destruct when approached, we can minimize the risk. Obviously, there are some powerful people here. Let's gather as much information as we can from orbit. We'll see what we can compile after that. Tasha, I want threat assessments and a list of the people who might present a problem to us, plus ways to neutralize or escape them without harming anyone or violating the Prime Directive."

"I can help with that," Wesley piped up.

"I will assist as well," Data supplied, then, quizzically, "sir, is there any plan to seek lieutenant La Forge and ensign Juarez?"

"There absolutely is," the commander began, but the comm system interrupted him, the lieutenant on duty in the bridge sounding wary as he spoke.

"Commander, we're receiving a signal from the planet. It's on a radio broadcast, but it's directed at space and pretty clearly meant for us."

"Put it through here," Riker ordered.

A face appeared on one of the wall displays. He was dark-skinned and handsome, and Tasha was caught between mild attraction and instant suspicion of an obvious politician.

And then he spoke. "To the people who are now hiding behind the moon; I do not know who you are. I do not know what you want. But you have entered the airspace of Wakanda without permission, using technologies and materials you could only have created with vibranium. Your people are alive thanks to the efforts of my best doctors and the power of Wakandan medical science. I have shown you charity and trust in saving your people's lives, but the safety and security of Wakanda must be my highest priority. Your people are under my protection, and they will not be returned to you until you negotiate openly with me, and until I am satisfied that your supply of vibranium was not stolen from Wakanda. Rest assured that no harm will come to them if they do not invite it by acting against us. I follow international law better than most: even an escape attempt will not be met with lethal force if they do not threaten my citizens. This is not to say that they are free to leave. Your people are only human, and if they attempt to leave my custody, they will be recaptured. I only mean to reassure you: speak openly and honestly, and this incident need not escalate. I anticipate your reply."

Everyone around the conference table was silent for several seconds.

Data finally broke the silence. "I believe a voluble expletive would be customary at this juncture."

Doctor Crusher nodded. "You can say that again," she muttered darkly.

"I believe a voluble expletive," Data began, but Riker cut him off.

"Thank you, Data, that will be all."

+----+

"T'challa, you can't keep doing this. I know I said thank you for bringing me broken white boys, but that did not mean I wanted the entire rainbow!" Shuri waved a hand at the medical tables in her lab, where the two intruders lay under a lot of equipment and casts.

"Believe me, Shuri, I didn't want them here any more than you did. Did you want me to leave them to die?"

Shuri sighed. "No. You did the right thing, T'challa, but it is damned inconvenient that you have a conscience."

"How dare I?" T'challa mumbled. He straightened himself up and went to check on the prisoners. One was a slightly-scrawny black man, with some strange devices at his temples. The other was a woman, with olive skin and a pretty face. Both had been nearly nude when he brought them in, covered in tatters and scraps of black fabric and bruised over their whole bodies. Broken bones and lacerations marked them all over, and they were burned in places because their craft had disintegrated with such energy that hot metal had struck them all over.

T'challa watched as the black man opened his eyes. He startled. They were blank and white: the man was blind. "Hello?" The man said cautiously. "Doctor Crusher?"

He was speaking English, so T'challa responded in the same language. "I do not know any Doctor Crusher. Tell me who you are."

The man's eyes went wide for a moment, then they narrowed suddenly. "No can do, pal."

"You are my prisoner," T'challa growled. "You will tell me, or your people will tell me in order to get you back. I have already told them I have you."

The man laughed. "It's not gonna happen, buddy."

"It's more likely than you think," Shuri told him, walking over. "You had a locator beacon made of carbonadium, uborite, gold, and minitanium. It was pinned to the scraps of your clothes. Still transmitting faintly. We were pretty impressed when it vanished after we told your people we had you." She bent down to peer at the device on his head. "Can we get a name, at least? I wouldn't want to be called 'intruder' all the time."

"Geordi," he said cautiously. "You haven't taken the thing that was over my eyes, have you?" He reached up to feel at his face.

"If you mean the thing that almost tore your face off when it disintegrated in the crash, no, that wasn't us. It was physics." Shuri smirked at him, then frowned when he jumped at hearing her voice. "Are you blind?"

"Yes," Geordi said. 

"What were you doing flying a spaceship?" She pressed.

"Nobody said it was-"

"You weren't subtle when you arrived," T'challa said. "People tend to notice big lights in the sky and enormous spaceships in orbit."

"We have this thing called a telescope," Shuri added helpfully. "You see, when something is far away-"

"I know how a telescope works," Geordi interrupted. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Is my friend alive?"

"Yes, but her injuries were worse and she is still unconscious. We are treating her." Shuri looked over at the woman. "Does she have a name?"

"Carla," Geordi said.

"Okay. Well, let's get you into housing and out of my lab." Shuri gave T'challa a pointed look. "Sounds like a good idea, brother?"

"You know, no other king would let you get away with this," T'challa grumbled.

Shuri laughed. "I have never put any other king in a headlock or filled any other king's bathtub with gelatin."

T'challa gaped at her. "That was you?"

"You filled his bathtub with gelatin?" Geordi exclaimed. "That is inspired!"

"I know. He was furious."

+----+

Will Riker leaned back in his seat and stared at the report Tasha had just handed him.

"I guess this is a better explanation for the arc reactors than a Gorn scouting party." He scrolled through it. "Some of this is fairly wild stuff. An android that flies and shoots phasers from his head, a shrinking man, some sort of powerful telekinetic... This 'Hulk' is pretty memorable. Looks dangerous, too. And apparently they've had Norse gods completely wreck a few towns." He frowned down at the report. "You realize this reads like a fever dream about cold-war America, right?"

"I've included some possible approaches to further information gathering."

Will read on. "Most of these are risky and difficult," he noted. "And why do they mostly revolve around Sipder-Man?"

Tasha looked a little nervous for a moment before visibly schooling her features into placidity. She drew in a deep breath. "That's in the media analysis. The signal attenuation is bad enough past eleven light-months that we can't get meaningful information that far back, but as far as we can tell, Spider-Man is the only one of these people who is both easy to find and relatively independent. Doctor Strange was apparently involved in some sort of incident some time back in Hong Kong, and I wouldn't advise approaching Tony Stark or the Avengers, since they're likely to discern the nature of the people who approach then and react in ways we don't like."

"Which leaves us with..." Will keyed through the report. An embedded segment of video, showing minor digital fidelity breakdown, depicted Spider-Man singlehandedly holding together a large boat that had been split in two. Another little segment of video, the quality a little better, showed Spider-Man arguing with the armored figure of Tony Stark and leaving him behind in an obvious huff. "A teenager in New York who picks fights he shouldn't, or a huge risk of getting into a conflict with a team that could probably destroy the _Enterprise_ if they put their minds to it."

"An accurate assessment, if somewhat grim." Tasha squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. "There are other ways to gain information, but these are partially the affairs of private citizens. I can tell you a lot about Iron Man or Vision, but almost nothing about Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov. This 'Scarlet Witch' person is even harder to look up, and all I could find about Ant Man was an old conspiracy theory that claims he's immortal."

Will nodded. He finished skimming through the report. "God, that's not even the bad news. You're telling me half these people are in Wakanda right now, too."

Tasha nodded.

"Which plan would you recommend?"

+----+

"Wakandan officials are remaining tight-lipped about their ongoing standoff with unidentified intruders, who they claim may have created a spaceship out of stolen vibranium." Most superheroes, Peter thought, wouldn't listen to NPR on their patrols, but something about BBC rebroadcasts was oddly soothing, likely to do with the fact that the British men all sounded pleasantly sophisticated and world-wise. It lent their broadcasts a warmly reassuring quality, as though there was nothing wrong with giant spaceships picking fights with brand new pocket superpowers. "The intruders, who are speculated to be linked to recent incidents in New York city, reportedly entered Wakandan airspace four days ago with a craft that was invisible to radar. The craft, which was shot down by Wakandan aircraft, contained want king T'challa of Wakanda referred to as a 'bargaining chip,' and which some are speculating-"

"Karen, turn off the radio," Peter snapped. He hurried to the corner and watched the moving vans. New neighbors, which meant another week of trepidation as he wondered if these were the thugs Adrian Toomes had sent to kill him.

And then he heard the voice. "All I'm saying is that it's a mathematical puzzle that's been unsolved for centuries, but for all we know, someone here figured it out. It wouldn't hurt to-"

"Wesley, for heavens sake, give it a rest!" 

A woman rounded the corner, red hair flowing along behind her. She was carrying a large cardboard box, followed by a curly-haired guy who looked like a cartoon policeman, lugging a plastic trunk with some kind of logo on the side. He spoke, naturally, with a light Irish brogue. "I dunno, Beverly, he might have a point. We are explorers. We might as well explore."

A boy followed them, about Peter's age, slender and athletic, with amusingly preppy well-coiffed brown hair, a surprising contrast to his parent's red.

It was a family. That seemed less likely to be thugs, but the different hair colors... He could have sworn two redheads usually made another, because it was a recessive trait or something. Which meant Wesley down there might not be related to Beverly and her husband at all. Which meant... Any number of things, really.

Peter hurried in through his window. Aunt May was cooking in the kitchen, dancing around to Nirvana. She jumped when she turned and spotted him.

"Dammit, Peter, stop doing that! I've told you to use the door!"

Peter froze. "Sorry, Aunt May, it's just, there's a new family moving in, and I wanted to investigate before I let them see me."

Aunt May glared at him. "Peter, if they're goons sent to kill us, knowing more about them isn't likely to help much. Now take that thing off and come eat dinner. You can spy on the new neighbors later."

Peter changed into street clothes and sat down to dinner, but he couldn't help remembering the face of Wesley. What problem had the other boy been talking about? 

After bed, he opened the window and crawled around the outside of the building until he found the new family. Beverly and her husband were sitting in the living room of a two-bedroom unit, separately reading books while Wesley bustled around in the kitchen, talking to someone over a fancy-looking Bluetooth headset.

A few minutes of observation turned up no evidence of thuggitude or henchery, but that didn't necessarily mean they weren't thugs. The better evidence indicated a very nerdy family: Beverly was reading a thick mystery, and Mister Beverly was deep in a book that had the word "quantum" in the title, in a dry practical reading way rather than a bad sci fi way. Peter crept back up to his window and got very little sleep that night.

The morning brought another surprise. Peter wasn't exactly in a local public school. He had gotten into Midtown on about a zillion scholarships, and therefore wasn't expecting it when MJ leaned over as he came in and pointed across the entry hall. "New kid. He's pretty cute, isn't he?" She was pointing at Peter's new neighbor.

Peter had to admit, MJ wasn't wrong. Wesley was looking confusedly at a map of the school, his brow beetled in concentration. Peter squeezed MJ's hand and headed off to go investigate. "Hey," Peter said. Wesley jumped a little, and Peter smiled disarmingly. "You look kinda lost."

Wesley flushed very slightly. "Yeah. I'm sorta new here, and I'm not sure how to read this map."

Peter held out a hand. Wesley gave him the map, which had a little class schedule stapled to it. "I'm Peter," he said conversationally. "I think I saw you moving into my building last night."

"Oh!" Wesley's surprise wasn't entirely convincing, but Peter had to admit to being already predisposed toward paranoia. "Well, I did just move into the area. I'm Wesley Crusher. I got in on a scholarship for mathematics."

"Well, congratulations, you're in the cool class." Peter flashed him another winning smile. "You've got first period with me and MJ up on the third floor."

Wesley smiled. "MJ?" he asked. Peter pointed, and MJ waved. Wesley blushed a little more obviously. "I guess I can follow you? Can you help me find my... Um..." He gestured like he was opening a door.

"Your locker?" Peter nodded. "We have plenty of time for that. Come on." He waved to MJ and consulted Wesley's schedule. "Hey, you're in the same hallway as me."

Wesley blinked. "I am?" This time, his surprise seemed a little more genuine. Peter wondered if Wesley really was hiding something. It just didn't make sense for him to be attending Peter's school. It would make more sense to just blow up the building where he lived or something. All this scheming was blatantly unnecessary. That didn't necessarily mean Wesley was innocent. It only meant he might not be trying to kill Peter.

Sometimes Peter really regretted having superpowers.

"Yeah. Come on." Peter led Wesley to his locker, filling MJ in along the way. Wesley's locker was about forty feet from Peter's. He stared blankly at it, then pointed to the combination lock.

"I've never used one of these. What do I do?"

Peter stared at Wesley like he'd grown an extra head. MJ, though, came through; "home school kid, huh?" She leaned over-Wesley flushed his brightest red yet-and showed him how to open his locker. He stashed the things he wouldn't need until afternoon, working from Peter's advice, and then went with them to their first class.

Wesley shared four classes with Peter and three with MJ, and he was in Peter's lunch period, too. Peter had never been more grateful for academic decathalon than when MJ waggled her eyebrows in commiseration as he sat next to her.

"Cuter than Flash, but he's everywhere, isn't he?" MJ smiled as he settled into place. Ned followed after him, sitting on his other side. 

"Oh, way cuter than Flash," Peter agreed. "Also, not a total prick. Unlike Flash."

"I am right here, you know," Flash grumbled.

"We know," MJ replied. "We just don't care."

+----+

The third time Wesley saw Peter in person, he was wearing the suit again. Wesley stepped out to the fire escape when his mom signaled that Spider-Man was approaching. Peter was in mid-swing, returning from school, and he _twitched_ when he saw Wesley.

His aim fouled, he landed with less-than-perfect grace next to Wesley. 

"Hello," Wesley said.

Peter got up, dusted himself off, and said "uh, hi there. Um. Ci-citizen."

Wesley burst out laughing. "You really need to practice talking in the mirror, Peter."

If Peter had twitched before, he downright convulsed at that. "What the fuck!" He yelped.

"Was I not supposed to know that?" Wesley asked innocently. 

"HOW do you know that?" Peter demanded.

"You're my height and build, like Peter, and you sound like if Peter had a mild flu."

Peter sagged. "Thanks for the performance review."

"Hey, no reason to get upset about it," Wesley said. "Does your... Um... Your girlfriend know?"

Peter stared at him for a moment. "What girlfriend? You mean MJ? She's not my girlfriend. I mean, we, like, we go, y'know, we go out sometimes, and stuff, but we're not... Um..." He trailed off. "This is weird, right?"

Wesley smiled as comfortingly as he could. "I feel like it's probably an unfamiliar situation for both of us. Would you rather not know I know?"

Peter was still for a moment. Wesley could almost see him frowning at the metal grate under his feet. "Apartment five-twelve, ten minutes," Peter said. He shot a line to a nearby building and swung away.

Wesley went back inside. "Mom, where's your combadge?"

Wesley's mom poked her head around the corner. "Did you meet our friend?"

"He invited me to his quar-his apartment. I want a safety net."

Chief O'Brien stepped in from the kitchen. "If you want backup, I could wait outside with a phaser."

Wesley shook his head. "I'll just broadcast to the ship on a one-way line," he said as his mom handed him her combadge. A little prep work, and he slid it into his pocket while the chief set up with the _Enterprise._ Wesley set off for the apartment-not quarters-two floors-not decks-above his own. 

The building was just a little dingey, the walls slightly undercleaned and all the fixtures shabby. Wesley reached five-twelve and knocked at the prescribed time. Peter answered the door, looking ruffled and shaggy with his hair more unruly than usual. He peered suspiciously at Wesley. "Come in," he said. He was wearing a Midtown jacket over a bare chest, jeans, and no shoes. Wesley found himself staring at Peter's chest. The boy was _fit,_ and somehow Wesley had expected him,not to be wearing whatever he happened to throw on when he came in the window.

Wesley stepped into the apartment. As the door closed, a hand clamped onto the back of his neck, and a dark voice said "you're not one of Toomes's goons, are you?"

"No, ma'am," Wesley blurted.

"Why doesn't your dad look like you?" Peter asked.

"That's not my dad. My dad died years ago. That's Mom's new husband, Miles." This was a blatant lie, but he wasn't exactly allowed to tell Peter the truth.

The hand on his neck let go. "All right, Peter." The voice was much less dark now. "We can't just keep interrogating the poor kid."

Peter sighed. "Fine. Come on, I'll give you the rundown." He led Wesley to a room with a little loft bed in it. Some kind of model made of interconnecting plastic pieces sat on the dresser. Peter's Spider-Man outfit was hung in the closet, and the whole room displayed a sloppy coziness that Wesley kind of wanted to just sink into.

It might have had something to do with Peter, who, if he weren't from a pre-warp alternate-universe society, Wesley might have wanted to be friends with for real. Peter was no intellectual slouch, and he was kind and funny and Wesley had kind of a huge crush on his... Whatever MJ was.

Wesley was willing to admit that the full blast of rock-hard teenage abs and toned chest might also be a factor. He didn't normally like guys, but Peter was... A catch. "Who are you?" Peter asked, sitting on the lower bunk. Wesley studied his face, set and suspicious. Peter watched him, obviously ready to beat the hell out of him at the slightest provocation. "I mean, really. Are you somebody's thug?"

"I'm just me," Wesley lied. It didn't really sit right. He suppressed an urge to tell Peter everything. Choosing one of Peter's peers to perform this mission might have been good psychology, but it was more than a little stressful for Wesley. "Is it really that hard to believe I recognized your voice? I mean, it must have happened before."

"Once or twice," Peter admitted. "And that's what I'm worried about. One of the times someone figured out who I am, I got in a fight with, like, half the Avengers. Once, I got a gun pointed at my face by my girlfriend's dad. I mean, these situations don't exactly have a great track record for me, and you're just too convenient."

"I thought MJ wasn't your girlfriend," Wesley said.

Peter stared at him. "That's the part you want to know more about? Really?"

Wesley blushed and shrugged. "I've been through some pretty weird stuff. I mean, after that aliens-in-New-York thing, you tune it out, right?"

Peter leaned back against the wall, too casual to actually be as confident as he looked. "I wasn't talking about MJ. This was last year. I was taking Liz Allen to homecoming, and her dad was that Vulture guy who crashed that S.H.I.E.L.D. jet. I'd fought him in costume, and we'd spoken to each other briefly. I knew his face, but he only knew my voice. He put it together, though. Ever since I put him in prison, I've been expecting a bunch of goons with crazy alien weapons to attack me and my aunt."

"Alien weapons?" Wesley prompted. Peter waved at the bed next to him. He only started talking again when Wesley sat.

"Vulture was using stolen Chitauri technology. It makes sense, right? All this crazy stuff happening, with the invasion and Wakanda and Thor and a spaceship attacking in England and everything, I mean, it makes sense that people besides Tony Stark would be getting their hands on directed-energy weapons and flying wing suits and stuff. One of these days we'll find a working hyperdrive or whatever these guys use and we'll be halfway across the galaxy before we know it."

Wesley stared at the ceiling. Of course. The Prime Directive might not be able to handle a situation in which a pre-warp civilization had been openly invaded and won the fight. This Earth's development had already been pretty heavily interfered with. And Peter was right. If half of the piecemeal history of this planet Chief O'Brien had put together from the internet was true, it was only a matter of time before someone dug up an intact starship or was gifted with a functional Alcubierre drive by a wandering cosmic entity. Unless, of course, Tony Stark figured out the subspace component of his arc reactors' emissions and built his own warp engine.

"Heavy, isn't it?" Peter said.

Wesley grimaced. "You have no idea."

+----+

The problem was that they were spread out, and most of them were very well guarded. He could get to them, but only at considerable inconvenience. One didn't attack the Elders of the Universe lightly, and the Nova Corps was no easy target, either.

And then there was Earth. Thanos turned the Space Stone over in his fingers. Earth was... Dangerous. The Chitauri had learned that, to their infinite despair. Loki had been repulsed from Earth twice, a Human was responsible for the death of Ronan the Accuser, and was rumored to have destroyed Ego, the Living Planet.

And that was where the Mind Stone was, thanks to Loki's incompetence. It was where the Space Stone had been for centuries, and the Time Stone for a hard-to-measure period.

The Gyre in the Fulminous Sector had flared some weeks ago. Something had been done to it. Thanos' network of informants seemed to think that the people who were responsible had gone to Earth.

Earth, Earth, Earth, and Earth again. This bore investigating. He set his course.

+----+

"It's just... If this is true, sir, doesnt it change everything?" Wesley's face was eager. Will pinched the bridge of his nose for a minute before looking back at the commscreen in his quarters.

"It doesn't change the fact that they're pre-warp," he insisted.

"But they're post-contact," Wesley argued. "We might have more freedom to act than we think."

"It's a nice thought, Wesley, but I'm not willing to make that decision without the captain. That video King T'challa broadcast made it pretty clear that Geordi and Carla won't be harmed. We have time. We can figure out an extraction through your work or through ours. There's no need to violate the Prime Directive." Will felt like a bit of a liar after that. Truth be told, the Prime Directive was in tatters on the deck. The only saving grace to all this was that this Earth seemed to be pretty accustomed to being on the receiving end of that.

"I doubt Peter can do much to help us," Wesley said.

"He's a contact," Will insisted. "It's something. We should use it."

"Yes, sir," Peter said. He signed off and Will got up to go to the conference room. Tasha and Worf were already waiting there for him. "What do you have?" Will asked.

"A plan," Worf replied. "It may get us into Wakanda, and we may be able to retrieve Geordi and Ensign Juarez."

"That's more than we had before," Will said. "What's the catch?"

"We have to select crew for the away team based on ethnicity and languages known. The universal translator might be detected. That leaves us with only one person who could get in." Tasha handed Will a PADD and went on, "Senior Chief Petty Officer Patricia Naog. Forty years old, born and raised on Baba Six, enlisted at seventeen, lost an arm at Setlik III."

"Currently in counseling with Deanna Troi, considered unsuitable for field duty pending psych review," Will read off sadly.

"We could also mount an armed incursion," Worf pointed out. "I am reasonably confident a sufficient force of arms would overwhelm local defenses."

Will stared at Worf's proposal. He shook his head. "We send Senior Chief Naog. I'm not attacking a pre-warp society, especially not one on Earth."

Tasha nodded. "Yes sir. Should I ask Counselor Troi to complain to you before I give Patricia her orders?"

Will snorted. "Go ahead. I could use a good fight."

+----+

Carla Juarez woke up with a splitting headache and a sense of deep unease. Her right arm was immobile, her ribs searingly painful. The ceiling above her was a bright white, rather than the soothing beige of sickbay's bulkhead. An unfamiliar voice, singing in a language she didn't know, but which the universal translator helpfully provided a deeply unmusical transliteration of, buzzed around nearby. 

"Hello?" Carla called. There was a noise beside her, and she moved her head despite the headache to see lieutenant Laforge bandaged and sitting by her bedside. 

"Good morning, ensign," he said.

"Where are we?" Carla asked woozily.

"You are prisoners of the kingdom of Wakanda," the singing voice said. A woman, slight and sunny, stepped around the end of a wall. "Your friend has been very uncooperative."

"I still can't see," the lieutenant complained.

"That is your people's fault, not mine." She extended a hand. "I am Shuri. I am the smartest person in the country." 

"She means it," Laforge said.

"She is awake now, broken blind boy. Back away and let me look at her." Shuri leaned in close as Laforge backed away. She pulled out an array of strange instruments and proceeded to poke, prod, and scan Carla's body, paying special attention to her ribs, her immobile arm (it was trussed up in some kind of rigid casing) and her head. 

"You have been in a coma," Shuri explained calmly. "You were going four times the speed of sound when my idiot brother-"

"Her idiot brother, the king," Geordi interrupted.

"-shot you down." Shuri made what Carla suspected was a direct 3d image of her brain form itself out of the sand in a nearby table. "Then he brought you to me. 'Save them, Shuri,' as though I am the gatekeeper to death. I had to unflatten you. And the shockwave from when your engine exploded didn't do me any favors."

"How did we survive that?" Carla demanded.

"I think your little ship tried to save you. Some of your injuries were strangely localized." Shuri nodded at the brainscan. "That's what I thought. Duralipids did it!"

"Duralipids?" Carla asked.

"Fat molecules that incorporate an endurite atom. Only they call it duroite." Geordi had a mildly impressed look on his face. Carla just knew endurite as a post-transuranic element that had something to do with isolinear circuitry.

Which, admittedly, put it three hundred years past what twenty-eighteen Earth should be able to synthesize. 

"I call it soulsand, because my people have called it that for a century," Shuri growled petulently. "Tony Stark used stolen Wakandan vibranium to synthesize it out of pure technetium last year, but he wrote a paper on it and now everyone calls it duroite because Stark has a huge ego and no imagination."

"It's a sore subject," Laforge said as someone started down the stairs.

"She gave you an experimental treatment that altered the electrical properties of your brain," the man coming down the stairs said. He was dressed in a comfy-looking but still elegant and regal teal robe. "I don't really understand it, but apparently you weren't going to wake up on your own. You should probably say thank you."

"Thank you," Carla said. "Really. But... You said we're prisoners?"

"Absolutely," the newcomer said. "You intruded on my airspace in a craft that could only have been made with vibranium. Given that I live on the only supply of vibranium on Earth, and you are human, I can only conclude I have been the victim of a thief. I will not release you until your people speak to me and I get to the bottom of this."

"You're the king?" Carla asked.

He stepped up to a respectful distance from her. "King T'challa of Wakanda," he confirmed. "Where did you get the carbonadium?"

"The what?" Carla asked.

"Duranium," Laforge said. "Only they synthesize it with tricobalt retroreflective fusion chambers."

"The fact that you know the process works against you," T'challa said.

Laforge shrugged. "It does. I didn't do anything but investigate, though."

This seemed to be an old argument. It was waged almost good-naturedly. "How long was I unconscious?" Carla asked cautiously.

"Four days," Shuri answered. "Your injuries will keep you here for a time, so Geordi will be escorted to his holding suite while you stay here now." She turned a mock-fierce expression on Laforge and T'challa. "Go on, get him out of here!"

+----+

MJ smirked across the lab table. Wesley was chatting with Peter again about higher mathematics. She added another tally mark to the growing list of evidence in favor of her theory that they were totally gonna fuck.

Wesley caught MJ smiling and blushed, looked down at the table, and turned back to Peter. She could fully admit that she might want in Wesley's pants, too. The boy was _recklessly_ cute, and not the kind she wanted to cuddle with, either.

She wanted to corrupt him. He walked around like Midtown was a military academy. It was like looking at a boy scout in uniform and trying to resist the urge to trip him into a mud puddle.

But sexy.

Peter looked up, and MJ jerked her chin at Wesley. Peter grinned. MJ thrust a finger into the looped finger and thumb of the other hand, nodding suggestively, then pointed to Wesley and herself. 

Peter bit his lower lip gently and nodded enthusiastically. MJ decided Wesley was probably a little screwed, or at least hopefully he was.

On the way out of school, she caught up to Wesley before he could hop on the subway. "Wes!" She called. He stopped. She held out a hand. "Come on," she said, grabbing his hand when he reached out for her. She led him down the street to a little diner and pushed him in ahead of her. 

"What are we doing here?" Wesley asked. The host came up and led them to a table. 

"I wanted to get to know you better," MJ said. "So I figured we could have a little date."

"Date?" Wesley squeaked.

MJ rolled her eyes. "Relax. It's not necessarily like that. You gotta play your cards just right for that."

"But... Peter..." Wesley was slowly turning the reddest MJ had seen him get so far. 

"You are really nice," MJ said. "It's kinda sad, 'cause the world is way less nice than you are and you're gonna find out eventually."

"I know the world is stupid and annoying sometimes," Wesley objected.

Their waiter showed up and when Wesley looked exactly as lost as MJ had predicted, she ordered for both of them, tossing off a quick "you're not a vegetarian, are you?" before getting them each a different burger. "So," she said while the waiter walked away. "What do you want with Peter?" When Wesley tried looking innocent, she interrupted, "I don't really care as long as you aren't trying to hurt him. Like, if you were sent by S.H.I.E.L.D. to protect him or whatever, eye-dee-gee-ayy-eff. I'd appreciate if you told him that, but it's okay. But I'll kick your ass if it's something that'll hurt him."

Wesley blanched. MJ reflected that he had probably the worst poker face she'd ever seen. "I'm not going to hurt him," he said. "I would never... I just... I need his help with... I really can't tell you, and there's a lot of important reasons I can't ask him directly for help, but I promise I don't want him hurt or anything."

"Maybe I should just tell him all about it," MJ said.

"No, please!" Wesley stopped short of actually throwing himself to his knees to beg, but he did nearly jump out of the booth. "Please, I promise you, I don't mean the slightest harm. I'm... I have to deal with some strict rules, but all I'm trying to do is help some people who need help."

MJ sighed. Wesley was obviously desperate, and his tongue was clearly held by rules he didn't entirely control. "Fine. But if you hurt him... I mean, if you hurt him emotionally, I'll kick your ass. And you have a week to tell him."

"You're not telling me to stay away from him?" Wesley asked.

MJ rolled her eyes. "No. He likes you, I like you, as long as you come clean about whatever, I don't mind. Like, this is obviously important to you, Peter can handle himself, just don't make everything suck."

Wesley made a relieved noise when the waiter chose that moment to deliver their drinks. He grabbed his Coke, sipped, and made a face. "That is downright _caustic!"_ he exclaimed.

"That's like the most popular soft drink in the world," MJ said. "You blend in about as well as a T. Rex at the republican national convention. I doubt you can keep this secret more than a week, anyway."

Wesley looked downcast, so MJ reached across the table to grab his hand. She soothed him for a bit and let the conversation wander onto lighter subjects. By the time she had paid for their food and they were out the door, Wesley was laughing and talking like he didn't have a care in the world. It was refreshing, honestly. MJ led him to the subway station and stood with him on the platform while the traffic rumbled and noised about. As the train drew closer, she was expounding on her favorite curse words. 

"There's just something about fuck that feels so nice and forceful," she said as the train rounded the corner. "I mean, I get your thing about this Riker guy making it sound fun to say damn, but fuck is forceful and versatile, and I stand by it."

Wesley grinned. "I guess. Look, MJ... Thank you for understanding. About the secret."

She shrugged. "Peter wouldn't want me to send you packing just because you can't be totally honest right away."

Wesley's smile stayed in place, an appealingly harmless expression. As the train pulled in, MJ sighed and leaned over to kiss him. He surprised her by immediately getting into it. There was tongue, and when she sent him off towards the train, he was finally walking like he was relaxed. MJ smiled at him as the train took off. Wesley waved at her, the very picture of the awkward teen.

Baby steps, she told herself. Wesley would loosen up. It was just going to take careful application of her own charisma and Peter's unique brand of weirdly-sexy charm.

+----+

Peter froze on the floor just under his bedroom window. Someone was sitting in the dining room,with Aunt May, talking in low tones about nothing that sounded too important. When he heard Aunt May call her guest Wesley, he relaxed and pulled off his mask to step into the dining room.

Aunt May startled pretty badly. "Peter!" She snapped. "I've told you to use the door!"

"But I can climb the walls," Peter said, and it definitely didnt come out as a whine.

Maybe a groan.

Wesley turned around. His face was slowly climbing through his usual lighter blush to an incandescent red Peter could really get used to seeing. "Can I talk to you in private?" He asked.

Peter nodded. He gestured at his bedroom. "Come into my boudoir," he said in the most overblown seductive voice he could. Wesley looked unaccountably mortified at the phrase. Peter had to wonder if Wesley was straighter than he'd thought.

Wesley was silent for a few moments until Peter started taking the suit off. He averted his eyes carefully. "Peter, I'm really sorry. I... I sorta kissed MJ."

"Cool," Peter said. "Did she do the thing with her tongue? You'll know if she does the thing with her tongue."

Peter got the empty suit on the floor. He picked up a pair of pajama pants and slipped them on. "You're not mad?" Wesley said hopefully.

"I'll be mad if you're leading her on," Peter admitted. He picked up the spider suit and tossed it in the closet. "Me and MJ are good. Since we're good, and we talk, it's okay if we have other guys sometimes. Or girls, but she doesn't really like girls mostly. After Liz, I went with MJ and this guy Wyatt for a while, but Wyatt was long-distance, so it didn't work." Peter sighed sadly as he remembered Wyatt and some late-night Skype calls. He'd first had sex with MJ during one of those calls.

Wesley abruptly sat next to Peter, looking straight down at his crotch while totally failing to look casual. "I shouldn't be getting involved with either of you," he said.

"But you want to," Peter filled in. "Why can't you?"

Wesley glanced at the ground. He frowned. Finally, he seemed to come to a conclusion. His back straightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. "I can't tell you much. I just... I need your help." Peter felt his own eyes narrow suspiciously. "I was supposed to see if you could help. I promise... I promise I really do need your help. It's a delicate situation, is the thing, and I had to be sure you would help, but something MJ said made me realize I... I care. About what you think of me. So even though it's kinda scary, I'm telling you the truth, or as much as I can."

Peter's first thought was to be angry. But he liked Wesley, and it sounded like someone or something had some serious leverage over him. "I shouldn't really be telling you this much, but I need you to understand the stakes. Some friends of mine are being held captive by people we don't know if we can get past."

"And you need me to save them?" Peter said.

Wesley shook his head. "No. I need you to get to the people who can."

"Who are your friends?" Peter asked. He was wary now, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"I can't."

Peter shook his head. "Full disclosure or you leave now."

Wesley leaned back. Finally, he opened his eyes. "Can I go make a call real quick?"

Peter nodded stiffly. "Five minutes. I'll time you."

Wesley had been gone for four minutes by the time Peter started getting antsy. When he came back in, Peter breathed a sigh of relief. 

"My friends are the people who were shot down in Wakanda. We're just trying to find a way home. They're holding our people there, and we can't get them back."

"Home," Peter said, 'implies that you aren't home right now."

Wesley nodded. "I'm bending all sorts of rules to the breaking point by telling you this. But you need to know. I need to get my friends out of Wakanda, and I need to do it without hurting anyone or doing harm to Wakanda itself. Please, Peter, they didn't do anything wrong. They were just investigating the vibranium. It's all a misunderstanding."

Peter watched him for signs of dishonesty, but Wesley's face was open and hopeful. He watched Peter closely, body tense and set for any reaction. "You're not telling me everything," Peter stated simply.

"I'm not telling you everything because I can't. There are rules I have to follow. But everything I just told you is true, I swear."

Wesley was taut and nervous, his whole being now focused on Peter. Peter watched him sitting there, and Wesley's eyes were so wide, his face so eager, that Peter just wanted to hold him and tell him everything Would be all right. "Aw, crap," Peter mumbled. "I'm keeping you, aren't I?" Wesley's expression turned puzzled, but before he could ask about it, Peter went on, "I'll look into it. I'll try to help you if it all looks right, okay?"

Wesley exclaimed happily and lunged forward to hug him. Peter went over backwards with the momentum of it, and suddenly Wesley was lying on top of him, squeezing him for all he was worth, which was a surprisingly powerful embrace. "Thank you!" Wesley squealed, holding tight to Peter. Slowly, the hug turned from enthusiastic to comforting, and after a minute, Wesley noted, a little huskily, "you're really toned."

Peter turned his head to find Wesley staring down at him, brown eyes intense. Peter's heart fluttered pleasantly. His lips itched to kiss, to touch, to explore. His eyes drifted closed. Wesley's breath came in gentle wafts against his face. 

"You're dangerous," Peter whispered.

"I am?" Wesley propped himself up, straddling Peter's waist. He twitched a little, probably feeling Peter's slowly growing arousal. "Oh," he said.

Peter opened his eyes. Wesley rolled off of Peter and sat on the bed, redfaced and strained. "Sorry," Peter mumbled.

"It's okay." Wesley stared at the ceiling, the walls, anything but Peter. "I... Kinda liked it." He finally turned to smile shyly at Peter. Peter entertained a brief-but-vivid fantasy of webbing him to the bed and making him come unglued.

"You don't have to stop there," Peter told him.

Wesley blinked. He sat bolt upright. "I... I have to go." He stood up and walked out of the room.

"Wesley!" Peter called after him.

"I'm sorry," Wesley called back, and then he was out of the apartment.

"Wow," Aunt May said. "I was just about to make you open the door. I guess I didn't need to worry."

+----+

Beverly watched Wesley cross the apartment and lock himself in the bathroom. Three days here, and the pressure was already starting to get to him. Miles was convinced these people already had dilithium, and she cautiously agreed. He poked his head in from the kitchen, where he was working with a computer that they'd picked up at someplace called best buy. "What was that about?" Miles asked.

"I have no idea," Beverly said. She watched the bathroom door, but Wesley didn't come out for about ten minutes, and when he did, he headed immediately for his bedroom. Beverly followed along. She caught Wesley's door before it could swing shut, and he turned to stare at her. His face was red, and he looked spooked. "What's wrong, Wesley?" Beverly asked.

Wesley backed up to his little single bed and sat down heavily. "I can't do this, Mom." He began to pale. "Peter... And MJ... And I mean, I like them both... A lot." His hands shook a little in his lap. "But just liking someone isn't... It wouldn't be right, but they like me, too, and..."

Beverly wrapped her son up in her arms. It was just her luck, just Wesley's luck, that the first time he fell for someone, had a real, healthy crush, it would be violating the Prime Directive to follow through on it. "It's going to be okay, Wesley," she said. "It won't be long."

Wesley slumped hard. "It already feels like it's been too long," he complained.

"Boy, you got it bad," Beverly said. "I'm sorry it's like this. Do you want to tell me more?"

Wesley nodded. "MJ kissed me yesterday. And she and Peter are... Something. I don't know what exactly." He took in a long, shaky breath. "And I don't usually like guys, but Peter is so... He's so smart, and I was talking to him, and it got really, really intense."

"What were you talking to him about," Beverly prodded.

"I told him everything I could without breaking the Prime Directive." Wesley stared off at his bedspread. "He knows I need his help, and he knows why, but he doesn't know the details. He agreed to look into it."

Beverly ramped down her urge to praise Wesley for making so much progress. That wasn't what he wanted right now, even if it was the most important part. "Do you feel like you're using him?" She asked.

Wesley shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I should talk to Counselor Troi."

Beverly sighed. Deanna probably was the best person to deal with this, but it was still Beverly's job as his mother to support him. "I'm here if you nneed to work it out more. And I'll ask for Deanna to come for a meeting."

Wesley nodded and held onto her. Beverly began to wonder how she had let it go this long since the last time she sat and talked with her son. She didn't actually know if there was anyone special to him on the _Enterprise._ Wesley sat with her, and she waited until he spoke up again. "Did you ever have a... A situation like this?"

Beverly shook her head. "No. But when he gets back, you might ask Captain Picard. He was part of a Terliann Triad for about a year when he was a lieutenant."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Wow. I didn't know that."

Beverly nodded. "I was torn between two suitors, once." She thought back, but tore her mind away from that. "That's not quite the same, though."

"I'd still like to hear," Wesley said.

+----+

Tricia frowned at the shawl she'd been given. Twenty years to earn the Starfleet uniform, and here she was, taking it off to go traipsing around as an intruder among her ancestors' could-have-beens. Commander Riker stood next to a fuming Counselor Troi in front of the transporter pad. The transporter tech, not the chief, because Miles was planetside trying to decipher the local tech level, sent her down to the surface. 

When the transport was over, Tricia looked around. She was in a field. Off in the distance was a line of smoke from someone's campfire. She headed towards it cautiously. The people there were laughing,and talking happily, clearly a close-knit group. Tricia moved on, past the camp. Orbital imaging suggested a massive holographic deception, the image of an entire mountain capping a city, concealed from the human eye but detectable with the right sensors.

Fortunately, Senior Chief Patricia Naog was from the twenty-fourth century, and this "Wakanda" had brute-forced their way to the twenty-second. She reached into her pocket and flipped a switch on the stealth unit lieutenant Laforge's team had built for her. A curious silence enveloped her as sound-canceling, heat-masking, and signal-scattering went to work. A tticorder, carefully modified to avoid giving her away, blinked dim reassurances as it assessed her surroundings while she moved towards the holo-mountain. 

"This would be a lot easier if they could have beamed me inside of the hologram itself," she grumbled. She knew why they couldn't, of course; it was an impressive feat to get a holoprojector that size working without frying everyone and everything inside the hologram. Building a projector on the scale of an entire illusory mountain and having it not play merry hell with transporters was basically impossible for any known civilization. The signal booster of a combadge might be enough to get them all out, but she'd been given three monotanium waveguide boosters to help the ship lock on and beam them out when the time came.

Of course, she thought as she approached the distant, bustling late-night spectacle of the central city. Birnin Zana twinkled up ahead, and Tricia set out towards it.

It took most of the night for a one-armed woman to get through the rough land around the city, but she arrived an hour before dawn, turned off her stealth unit, and moved to blend in with the population.

+----+

Jean-Luc stepped out of the shuttle. Five days at warp six was pushing its capabilities to the limit, but the risk had paid off. 

There was a place where time ran together. A place where Jean-Luc could get answers. It had been classified top secret for generations. The Federation had deliberately expanded around it, left it marked as forbidden in charts and guarded it with sensor stations and starships. Picard walked across the ancient gravel, through the ruined wreck of a city crumbled by entropy more than any other force. The Guardian sat unmoving between two tumbledown walls, a pillar just visible through its aperture. 

Here, there was no Starfleet, no sensor station, no starships. The Guardian of Forever was unspeakably old, it sat on a world that orbited a dead sun, warmed by cosmic radiation instead of anything so glamorous as starlight. The fact that the place was livable at all was mostly due to the Guardian's influence. But the Guardian was still there. It was one of the few precepts of alternate universes and temporal mechanics Jean-Luc could consistently recall: the older an object is, the more likely it is to exist in both one's original timeline and a separate timeline. The Guardian of Forever was so old that nearly any universe that contained humans was likely to contain it as well.

Jean-Luc stopped in front of the Guardian.

"Welcome!" The machine intoned, its eerie almost-stone rim flashing. "You are first to visit me in twenty thousand years."

Jean-Luc nodded. "I know. I am displaced from my own universe. I need to see the event that brought me here so I can reverse it."

"Fool!" The Guardian scolded, flashing. Picard stumbled back away from it. "You cannot reverse your intrusion! Fate may take you along two paths. A path of tragedy or a path of uncertainty and peril. There are two outcomes, and I do not know what creates them."

"What outcomes?"

The Guardian hesitated. Jean Luc had a feeling it was doing more thinking than he would do in a dozen lifetimes. 

Images began to flash through it, too fast to see. Finally, it settled: a complete void. "The future is a fog in which looms the shapes of possibility. The end of all things is a wall in the fog. Your arrival heralded the approach of a wall. In half of the fog around us, your actions destroy the universe."

Jean Luc could feel himself growing pale. "The other half?"

The image in the Guardian changed. It was Earth, from orbit. A starship drifted by, a Miranda Class. Beside it was a ship with an unfamiliar design, its insignia the flag of the USA.

It shifted. A man in a Starfleet uniform hovered over a ruined Golden Gate Bridge while he tensely confronted a man in flying power armor of some sort.

It shifted. Data was standing before a crowd. There was a violet light in his eyes and a smile on his face as he was sworn into some high office that had vanished in World War Three.

It shifted. Jean Luc sat on a rude chair and threw the flag of the Federation into a fire. The contempt on his face was palpable.

"If I am to save the universe, I must abandon my principles." Jean Luc shook his head. "But this could be just my reward for saving the universe. I've read more than one philosopher who thinks the Federation is nearly done for. I may be witnessing things that have nothing to do with my actions."

"That is possible," the Guardian said. "These events are among trillions I can foresee in the fog. They are all that are pertinent to you."

Picard closed his tricorder. "Thank you, Guardian," he said. 

"He certain you succeed," the Guardian said. "I wish to go on existing."

"Don't we all," Jean Luc grumbled. "I have no intention of ceasing to exist either," he assured the Guardian. 

When he closed the shuttle door, Jean Luc sat down and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. There was no choice, or else there was every choice. If he survived the coming events, his principles would be compromised. He had seen the violation of the Prime Directive. He had seen the meddling and even direct participation in the politics of another society. If he survived, he would either create or inherit a world in which he hated the Federation. He didn't know which it would be, and that worried him. 

Jean Luc lifted off and set course for Earth. If there was no clear evidence that he must abandon his principles to survive, then there was no reason to do anything but follow his principles until the bitter end. But the Guardian wouldn't tell him how to get back, so he had to learn that for himself, or else accept that he was trapped here. 

+----+

"It isn't unreasonable to try to escape," Geordi said. Carla was silent for a moment, but Geordi couldn't figure out her reaction from that meager cue. "These people follow the Geneva Convention. They know that we have a duty to try to escape, and they're not going to try to punish us for attempts."

"Sir, you don't know if that's the same Geneva Convention you heard about in the Academy." A note of panic had crept into her voice. "You haven't seen it, but I have. Everyone here is the same ethnic group. There's some variance, but it's what you'd expect out of an isolated populace that's spent centuries xenoexcluding."

Geordi felt himself blink as he tried to absorb that. "Where did you just pull that analysis from?"

"My scholar's courses at the Academy were in xenoanthropology and comparative sociohistorical predictive analysis. I could do this in my sleep." Carla sounded smug for only a moment before she went on. "Cultures that isolated and ethnically static usually have a strong outsider aversion. As far as these people are concerned, we're probably the enemy and very unlikely to be harmless even if we weren't attacking them. I doubt their definition of threatening the safety of Wakanda is the same as ours."

"But they're African," Geordi objected. "I thought xenophobic violence at this time was mostly a European and American problem."

Carla laughed bitterly. "Even if that meant that people never got killed out of nationalistic paranoia in Africa, it wouldn't matter because this isn't our Africa." 

"So you think we should sit tight and wait for rescue."

"It beats getting killed for trying to flee through the streets," Carla said. "Not to mention we're still being kept in the vibranium mine. They're even touchier about that than they are about the fact that it took their king personally intervening to bring us down."

The door opened up somewhere nearby. Carla was silent for several seconds before she said, "see, I told you."

Geordi pointed to his eyes. "Carla," he said. 

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "Oh god, I forgot! Um... It's Tricia. Senior Chief Naog from-"

"From maintenance," Geordi finished for her. "Why did they send you? You're not security."

"I am the only African person who speaks Xhosa naturally that we had on the ship." Geordi could hear her moving around, and then she pressed a combadge to his chest. "Let's go," she said. " _Enterprise,_ three to beam up."

Nothing happened for a long, long moment, and then a staticy voice filtered into the room. "Chief Naog, we can barely even read your signal where you are. You must be deep in the tricobalt mine. You'll need to get at least a kilometer closer to the surface."

"I could probably smuggle lieutenant Laforge that far, but ensign Juarez is a bit pale to blend in here."

"Never been accused of that before," Carla muttered. 

"Wait, pale?" Geordi tried to turn towards Chief Naog's voice. "What do you mean?"

"We're in Africa," Naog explained. 

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Oh, for..." Naog heaved a heavy sigh. "You are a black man. She is a Latina woman. You have wildly differing skin tones."

Geordi froze. That explained several things he'd never given any thought to. " _That's_ how ethnicity works?!" He spluttered. 

"You didn't know?" Carla said incredulously. 

"I'm blind!" Geordi exclaimed. 

Naog cleared her throat. "What do we do, sir?"

"We have to get out together," Geordi said. "There's no point if we leave you behind."

"Bullshit. You go, sir," Carla said. "I can live here as long as I need to. I knew when I signed up for Starfleet that I might have to go through much worse than this. Wakanda is nice enough, sir. I'll just try to pretend it's a vacation."

Geordi started to protest, but a hand landed on his shoulder. "She's right, sir," Naog said. "We need to get you disguised and get you out of here. You'll be more use to her giving us information and working on getting her out than down here being miserable."

There was some shuffling, and some sort of loose garment was thrown over him. Geordi found Carla and hugged her tight, then let Naog lead him out. He tried to keep control over himself, but he didn't even know how Naog had gotten in, much less how he was getting out. Naog stopped after a few meters and pressed something into his hands. Geordi sagged with relief. It wasn't his visor, that was for sure, but it had the same connector ports. He brought it up and connected it, and a stabbing headache hit him. The spectral coverage was all wrong, and the connection was twitchy as hell, but he could finally see something. 

"It's designed to look like contemporary spectacles," Naog told him. "The lenses are polarized to always hide your eyes a little."

"This thing is screaming at me," Geordi complained, "but it'll work for a while. Let's go."

They encountered several people, but Naog was wearing some sort of tag that, though difficult to see and totally unreadable to Geordi, seemed to grant her free passage here. He was apparently roughly the same color as these people. He wondered what that color looked like.

+----+

"So, Mister Stark is pretty pissed off about this whole Wakanda thing." Peter sat down next to Wesley with his tray of...

"Where'd you get pasta?" Wesley asked. 

"'What happened in Wakanda, which is of deep personal interest to me, that you are so generously telling me about, Peter, my close and trusted friend?'" Peter crowed in poor imitation of Wesley's voice. "Well, calm down, cutie, and I'll tell you."

Wesley began to look around for where Peter had gotten the pasta. Peter tapped the table in front of him. "One of your friends escaped."

"Yeah, Geordi got away," Wesley said. "I'm surprised you know already. Where's the pasta?"

Peter sighed and pointed to a hallway Wesley had never been down. "Great. Watch my food?" He stood up and strode towards the buffet style counter with the pasta on it. He had to think. After the blistering awkwardness of the previous night, it was nerve-wracking to face Peter again. 

He was attracted to both of them. They were both pretty clearly into him. And he really liked them. If they had been from his universe, he wouldn't have hesitated. It was like a teen romance holonovel (not that he'd ever played one). The fact that they were learning elementary, highly simplified quantum theory and not warp mechanics was down to the era, not their intelligence. It was like what he'd been discussing with his mother: this was a different world, and no one knew what kind of genius it might have produced. Just because they didn't have phases didn't mean some genius hadn't solved Fermat's Last Theorem in their spare time, or Hilbert's eighteenth problem, or provided a definitive disproof of the halting problem. And Wesley wouldn't be surprised to see Peter or MJ do one of those things. 

He got his pasta while he thought, grateful for the long line. The fact was that Wesley felt like he belonged when he was with Peter, and MJ made him feel like there were fireworks going off in his brain sometimes. It was incredible, and exhilarating, and maybe it was just an adolescent crush, but the thing about crushes was that they felt incredibly real and immediate sometimes. 

And what made the Prime Directive so right? This Earth was full of things that Wesley had never seen in his life, things that he knew had never been made on his Earth. They even had multiple strong AIs running around. Vision, Ultron, and Jarvis had all been able to pass the Turing Test, which only about a dozen artificial intelligences had done in the entire history of Wesley's world, even fewer of them made by Federation citizens. As far as Wesley knew, Data was one of only three artificial beings capable of the feat ever to be made by a human. 

The fact that these people lacked warp drive seemed pretty irrelevant in the face of what they had, but it was still holding Wesley back from developing a real relationship with Peter and MJ.

And okay, so that was frustrating, but he hadn't come to New York for the dating prospects. Of course, that argument was pretty flimsy, too. He'd met very few people who met their spouses someplace they went for the dating prospects. 

Spouses. Wesley shook his head at himself. It wasn't like he thought he and Peter and MJ were soul mates or something. It was just that he had sometimes wondered if he would ever feel this way about anyone at all, and they both made him feel so good. 

Wesley paid for his pasta and arrived back at the table no less confused than before. "How did he do it?" Peter asked. "Your friend. Georgie or whatever?"

"I... Can't tell you," Wesley sighed. 

"C'mon, man, you gotta give me something here," Peter whined. "I shouldn't be telling you, like, anything. I should have told Mister Stark about you, except I like you, like, for real a lot, and I would never see you again if I just turned you over."

Wesley glared at his pasta. He ate a forkful. It was decent; like Grandma used to replicate. "We infiltrated Wakanda more subtlety. We had a way to get someone in undetected, so we sent them with the tools to get our people out. The Wakandan vibranium meant we could only get one of them out, though, so Juarez told Geordi to go."

"Oh." Peter blinked rapid-fire a few times. "I wasn't expecting it to be that simple."

"We sent a one-armed transgender woman to..." Wesley stopped himself short of saying "twenty-first century Earth," but it was a near thing. "To an unknown situation," he finished lamely. After a moment more, he added, "I doubt she thought it was simple."

"You were gonna say something else," Peter accused helpfully. 

"Yes," Wesley admitted. "That'd be 'too much,' I was gonna say."

"No, you said that."

Wesley blanched. He didn't get much further than that, thanks to not knowing what Peter's figuring him out would entail. Perhaps Peter would stand on the table and loudly denounce him as a spacegoing interloper from the future. "What are you talking about?" He was actually kind of proud that he'd only quavered a little as he spoke.

"Dude, you just gave New York's number one boy genius superhero a description of your weirdly conspicuous secret agent lady. I've made better moves before the spider bite."

Wesley let his head thud to the table. "I'm an idiot," he grumbled. 

"You're not an idiot," Peter replied. He rested a hand on Wesley's shoulder. "Wesley, we have to start trusting each other a little more if this is supposed to work."

Wesley pushed himself upright. "If what is supposed to work?"

"This," Peter said. He gestured between them. "You and me, and MJ, and working together, and all that. It takes trust"

"Peter, what do you think happens once Juarez is free?" Wesley asked. "I'll have to leave again. I can't... I mean, we can't..."

Peter's face fell. He squeezed his eyes shut. "I should really report you to S.H.I.E.L.D. or something."

"But you won't," Wesley predicted. Peter nodded. "I promise you we don't mean any harm," Wesley said. 

Peter rolled his eyes. "I know that. You're working with that Data guy, right?" When Wesley looked a little shocked at him, Peter laughed. "I can add two and two," he said. He grinned, then, bright and bold. "Nobody that dorky is really evil. He just wanted to make friends and be nice. It was like an episode of My Little Pony, and not a stuff-blows-up action one. More like if Fluttershy was a supersoldier."

Wesley blinked. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

+----+

"This look bad," Hulk growled. 

"Well, it isn't the prettiest ship I ever saw, but it's not that bad," Korg said tactfully.

"He means that it's going to Earth," Thor said. "It's his homeworld." He frowned. "Midgard is important to me, too."

"Well, what do we do about it?" Korg asked. "It's sort of going fast."

"Only about a hundred times the speed of light," Loki noted pleasantly. "That looks like a standing-wave drive. Why is it so small?" He tapped at the side of the screen that was showing the tiny ship. Thor swatted his hand away.

"I say we intercept." Thor turned to Korg. "Can we catch him?"

"If we move in the next minute or so, maybe," Korg said.

Thor looked up at the huge window at the front of the ship. "Do it," he ordered. Korg rushed off to make the adjustments to their course, and several tense minutes later, the little ship was moving alongside them. 

"He's calling us," the Asgardian working the communications system said. 

Thor shrugged. "Answer."

A refined voice thrummed through the control room. "Unidentified ship, this is Captain Jean Luc Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise,_ calling from the shuttlecraft _Einstein._ Please respond."

"Uh... Hi. I'm Thor," Thor tried. 

"Brilliant, brother," Loki congratulated with all the warm sincerity of a striking snake. "That's an oratory feat for the ages."

"Um," Captain Jean Luc Picard said. "I assume I'm adressing the commander of this ship?"

"Oh for-Thor, please let me talk to him," Loki growled.

Thor sighed and waved a hand to give permission. "You're now speaking to Loki, his second in command. I'm afraid my brother is the worst conversationalist on this ship." Loki smirked over at Thor.

"What about Hulk?" Thor and Hulk put in at the same time.

"He is pretty funny," Korg said consideringly.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut in visible irritation. "Thor is in command, as he's the king of Asgard, but he's still getting a grip on the whole leadership thing. May we inquire as to your purpose?"

"Ah," Picard said, "I am returning to my ship in orbit around a... particular world."

"You go to Earth?" Hulk asked loudly.

Loki groaned. Clearly, Hulk was the very essence of tact and good behavior. Picard, on the other hand, reacted smoothly. "You know of the place?"

"Hulk from Earth," Hulk blundered. "Why you go to Earth?"

Picard's shuttlecraft drifted into view through the window. "You don't sound human," Picard said, "if you'll forgive my saying so. How is it you come from Earth?"

"Hulk better than puny human!" Hulk exclaimed. 

"Yes, we're all very proud of you, Hulk," Loki snapped. "I am sorry for the chaotic nature of this call. I'm afraid our crew has been assembled from rather other than the finest available." He stepped to the window. This Picard seemed harmless, and his tiny ship didn't seem to pose much threat. "If you look out of your window, you'll be able to see us."

Hulk started waving behind Loki. "Hello spaceship man!"

Loki sighed heavily. "Yes. Hello, spaceship man."

"Ah! I see you," Picard said happily. "One question: what is your ship's top speed?"

"Ah..." Loki began, preparing to equivocate like his life depended on it.

"Seventy times the speed of light," Thor said. 

"Thor," Loki hissed. "What the hell?"

"He asked," Thor said. "Why not tell him?"

"I'm afraid my mission is rather urgent," Picard said. "I would travel with you, but I must be off. Perhaps we'll meet up at Earth," he finished hopefully.

"Perhaps," Loki said. Picard's tiny ship distorted as it jumped away. Loki turned to glare at Thor. "Perhaps you'd like to lay out a tea set for Thanos the next time he comes?"

+----+

Geordi spent sixty-eight seconds getting into his chair. "Wakandan prisons are nice," he said once he was still, "but I think I prefer Wakandan hospitality if I go back.

Data blinked. "Do you intend to return?" He asked as he sat on the couch. Repeated analysis had led him to conclude that sitting "casually" was not substantially different from other situations in which one sat. He folded his legs and allowed his body to lean several degrees to the right as he transferred some of his weight to the arm on the armrest. He crossed his left leg over the right at approximately the mid shin for each, and turned his head to look at Geordi.

"Data, what are you doing?" Geordi asked.

"I am sitting 'casually,'" Data said. "Am I not achieving the desired effect?"

"You look like you're getting ready to bolt," Geordi replied.

"How could I make my position more natural?" Data asked. 

Geordi laughed. He sometimes responded to Data's social missteps with amusement, particularly when the missteps were failures to perform human behaviors with convincing fidelity. "Stop holding your foot up off the ground, for starters." Data's left foot was about twelve centimeters off the floor. He slowly lowered it and uncrossed his legs. Geordi giggled slightly and went on, "okay, now lean back." Data angled himself back, but Geordi laughed harder. "No, Data, your... Your back has to relax."

"How do I do that? I have never 'relaxed' before." Data tried to press himself further into the backrest.

"Not like that," Geordi said. "Your spine isn't supposed to be straight."

"Ah. Poor posture appears more natural. Human relaxation is frequently mildly self-destructive." Data let his spine conform to the shape of the cushion. An interesting sensation of nearly-uniform pressure arose along his back.

"Right. Now turn your body a little toward me." Data angled his body until Geordi flashed him a raised thumb. "And stop holding your torso up."

Data let out a mild vocalization at the unexpected advice, but did it. His body slumped for a moment, but he did not fall far. He remained close to the position he had started from.

"That's... Better," Geordi said. He settled further into his seat. "So, do you think we'll ever get home?"

"I am unsure," Data admitted. "A thorough tactical analysis of this version of Earth suggests that the _Enterprise_ would be outmatched in open combat and stealthy moves here would be difficult at best. Wesley's success with Peter Parker is not insignificant, and may yet lead to the successful rescue of Ensign Juarez, but in order to retrieve her, if that effort fails, we may be forced to negotiate without revealing ourselves fully. Based on his past behavior, I doubt Captain Picard would be willing to leave Juarez behind, and so our returning home would depend first upon retrieving the ensign."

Geordi's face relaxed in the way that typically indicated deep thought. "I'd hate to leave Carla behind," he admitted. "But I don't have any way to measure what the eddie did when it pulled us through. We can't duplicate the event, and we can't make it happen safely."

"Then you believe it is impossible," Data said.

"Without help?" Geordi nodded. "Yes, Data, I do."

+----+

Steve stepped into the room and leaned against the wall. Carla Juarez wasn't particularly remarkable. She was in decent shape, young at twenty-seven, with light brown skin and wavy, sensibly shoulder-length hair. She stood five and a half feet tall or so, and her fairly angular build left her with an unexciting figure. 

Still, she raised an eyebrow with as much confidence as if she was the superhero and he was the prisoner. "Something tells me you're not from around here," she said with lazy amusement. 

Steve shook his head. "Not in the least. I was pretty surprised to hear about you. I got here yesterday. One of Okoye's people got a message to me asking for help last month, but apparently by the time the message got to me, everything was fine again. I was off in Latveria, though, deep cover. I had to travel alone and on foot and I didn't get the news about that whole Killmonger business until I got to Wakanda. At least I got to return that damn package to T'challa." He shrugged. "I don't mind that much. At least T'challa was nice enough to have a new crisis ready for me."

"Are you one of the white boys Shuri had to fix?" Juarez asked smugly. 

"I think I'm actually three of them," Steve said, "but she kind of likes to mother me." 

"If she's treating your boo-boos, she isn't doing it to mother you. Not with you looking like that." Juarez was surprisingly calm about all this. Shuri had said that Juarez seemed to have decided that this was basically just an unplanned vacation with very little to do. "So what gives you clearance to visit the Castillo de Juarez?"

"My best friend was framed for the murder of T'challa's father, and T'challa feels bad about trying to kill him. I lead a complicated life." Steve shrugged a little. "But I'm pretty good at getting information out of people, and you probably don't want Natasha to try."

"I really can't tell you anything," Juarez said. She seemed genuinely regretful. "Honestly, it's for your own protection. Not that you can't handle yourselves, I just... I'm not supposed to interfere."

"Then what were you doing flying into Wakanda?"

"Mostly reassessing my faith in my stealth systems." 

Steve laughed at the unexpected answer. Juarez was being actively obstructionist, but she was oddly charming about it. "That isn't what I meant and you know it."

"So this is where the torture starts, isn't it?" Juarez said. "I figured there had to be a catch."

Steve recoiled in horror at that. "I'm not going to torture anyone!"

"So that's Natasha's job?" Steve stared at her for a while. "You're not getting any information out of me any other way," Juarez continued. "And you won't get information out of my people, either."

Steve frowned. "I was hoping we could just negotiate for it."

Juarez shrugged. "We could, but we won't."

Steve sighed and stepped out. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head subtly, red hair bobbing. "She didn't talk. I implied you would torture her."

"Anticipation may be enough to break her," Natasha said hopefully. "I'll give her a couple of days to think it over, then I'll show up and do my best gleeful dominatrix act."

Steve sighed. "But she seems pretty resolved to withstand anything."

Natasha smiled blandly. "That's why we'll hit her with a whole lotta nothing, first." She started leading Steve away down the hall. Once they were around the corner, she added, "we don't need to tell her we won't torture her."

"Natasha, that's still psychological torture," Steve said.

Natasha smirked. "I'd rather call it mind games."

+----+

"You know, MJ, I just might be in love with him." Peter flopped dramatically backward on MJ's bed, jostling her and jolting her arm a bit. She glared at him and Peter just smiled apologetically. "It's pretty counterproductive, really. I mean, he's... He can't stay, and I'm gonna not get to see him for the rest of my life after he goes, but he's really honest and sweet and I think I caught him working on the Riemann Hypothesis in the margin of his notebook the other day, and I might be, like, for real in LOVE, MJ, and that's, like, twelve kinds of scary."

MJ scowled. She particularly liked her thinking-about-other-people's-problems-in-a-serious-and-helpful-way scowl. It felt sort of scholarly and wise, like the thing she was angry at was the existence of confusion in the universe. The fact was, she liked Wesley, and liked him quite a lot. But Peter liking someone that she liked, too was a new experience. "Have you ever been in love?" She asked. 

Peter turned his face away from her. He was still obviously blushing, but he mumbled, "yeah, but she said she didn't want to date me."

MJ rolled her eyes. Peter couldn't see, and therefore wouldn't be offended. He was still a little stuck in the heteromonogamous mindset. She didn't blame him, but she did have to correct him sometimes. "Peter, I don't date you because you aren't ready to be honest with me. You want me to date you instead of hanging out and fooling around, you gotta tell me shit. For real, Tiger."

Peter stared at the ceiling. He visibly wrestled with the decision, and finally blurted, "I'm Spider-Man." 

"Was that so hard?" MJ snarked. "All you had to do was be honest. Why don't you tell people?"

"Did you know already?!" Peter exclaimed. "How did you know?"

"Peter, half the decathalon team knows. You vanished literally every time Spider-Man showed up, and you rescued them from that stupid elevator while talking your face off. They don't say anything 'cause they like you and I scare them."

"Does everyone know?" Peter squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered a little. 

"Of course not." MJ rolled her eyes, "people mostly don't care about Peter Parker enough to notice he's Spider-Man." MJ watched him digest that fact: his anonymity allowed him to have a secret life; he could be famous and influential as Spider-Man, but only at the cost of quiet obscurity for Peter. 

"Oh god," Peter whispered in horror. "I'm going to do so much pure research. It's gonna be horrible."

+----+

"MJ has a theory about you." Peter followed Wesley into his apartment. Chief O'Brien looked up as he came in. "She thinks you're all aliens. I mean, that just makes her like you more." Peter continued behind Wesley as he went to the fridge. He was thirsty, and moderately addicted to Pepsi, with an actual physical dependent. "She says she doesn't know whether or not having a racial bias against her own species is ethically excusable."

Wesley pulled out a bottle of Pepsi and started towards his room. "Are you really gonna drink all that?" Peter asked, pointing to the bottle. 

Wesley glanced at it. "The one-liters weren't doing the job anymore."

"That's really unhealthy," Peter pointed out. 

Wesley opened his door. "Mom says so, too." He turned a pointed look Peter's way. "I guess you and my mom would get along." He stepped into his room. Peter followed. 

"Probably. Moms like me. I'm kid-tested, mother-approved." Peter sat on the edge of Wesley's bed. "Is it just me, or is your room super boring? No games, like, five books, I mean, even your blankets are dull. They're grey, Wesley. Grey. Grey sheets are like, second only to a shiny new bible in signs of boringness. Your room was put together by an old man." He looked at the closet and cringed. "And who assaulted the yarn to make that sweater?"

Wesley closed his closet door. "Why are you in my house?"

"Because I followed you in?" Peter laid back, sprawling himself out. "You asked me for help, Wesley. You have to talk to me."

Wesley closed the door and cracked open the soda. His head was starting to hurt, so he drank straight from the bottle, welcoming the sweetness. "I can talk to you at school."

"I like you. A lot." Wesley froze, the bottle halfway back to his lips. Peter had pulled himself back up and was smiling hopefully at Wesley. 

This place wasn't so bad. If it weren't for Juarez, he wouldn't hesitate to jump ship for someone like Peter or MJ, and finding them both seemed so perfect it was hard to believe. But he was fifteen. Peter was still fifteen for another month. He shook his head. "Peter, it would... It would hurt me to have to leave you if we... If we became... Like that." Wesley leaned back against the wall. "My place isn't here. My home is... It's somewhere else, and I can't tell you, but I can't bring you there and I need to go back. I'm sorry, but something would have to go very wrong to keep me here for more than another couple of months."

+----+

It appeared five hours before they were scheduled to have the captain's ship on sensors. Tasha distrusted it immediately, a massive machine that emerged, with no visible means of achieving faster-than-light travel, about half a light-hour away. The sensor returns off its hull showed pure duranium, an impressive show of force. It was lit in lines of pale light, its angular hull showing huge open spaces within, as though it was meant to shelter fleets inside its bulk. It could swallow the _Enterprise_ whole perhaps a dozen times over, and it ran on four fusion plants that glowed like the sun to the ship's sensors. 

It was making about point-oh-nine cee towards Earth, and it was, on paper, no match for a Galaxy class starship. A fully functional one, at least. Tasha nervously checked over her figures again. "I'm sorry sir. As far as I can tell, we'd normally be able to take him twice over, but we're in terrible shape. The best can give you is even odds. I recommend we don't go picking a fight."

"I concur," Worf rumbled next to her. "There is no dishonor in choosing to hope you face a new ally over an enemy."

Commander Riker frowned at the ship on the viewscreen. There was no evidence they had been seen, and he had ordered the _Enterprise_ taken out of line of sight, hiding behind Luna. "The Kirk Doctrine says we stop him and find out what's going on."

"Proactive enforcement of the Prime Directive," Data analyzed from Ops. "Commander, that methodology is discouraged by current Starfleet regulations. It is typically followed only when the attacking force is a known quantity, such as the Klingons or the Cardassians."

"The victims are the known quantity," Riker opined loudly from in front of Tasha. Take us out to meet him, Mister Tvash." The Bolian at the helm brought the ship around and swung behind the Moon to approach the huge ship. "Hail them, all frequencies, and in radio."

After a few minutes, a face appeared on their screen. He was huge, and purple, with a strangely wrinkled chin and a fine golden breastplate on his chest. "Why in the universe are you broadcasting on such a slow r-space band?" He growled irritably. "It took me ages to even notice the signal."

Commander Riker deflated a little. He'd stood up to speak to the stranger, but his bluster and confidence abandoned him for just a moment. He recovered after a few memorably awkward moments that Tasha would have to reflect on when she needed a laugh next. "I'm Commander William T Riker of the Federation Starship _Enterprise._ We're studying this planet in the interest of scientific advancement. Before I answer your question, I need to know your purpose here."

"My name is Thanos," the stranger said after several tensely stretched moments of deliberation. "I am seeking the match to these." He held up a gauntleted fist. A jewel glowed blue out of the knuckle of one finger, a second glowed orange from the back of the palm.

"They register as point-source singularities, similar to the ones on Earth," Data said, tweaking his instruments to scan them. "One of them is distorting subspace and makes clear readings difficult to obtain."

"Why are you seeking them?" Riker asked. 

Thanos frowned. "I confiscated one of them from a small ship on the way here. It was back in the hands of an Asgardian going by the name 'Loki.' These stones are dangerous, but I can safely channel their power. I am going to gather them and lock them safely away."

Riker sat back down. Thanos lowered the gauntlet. "Just how dangerous are they?" Riker asked. 

"I have here the Soul Stone and the Space Stone. The Power Stone has been used to destroy worlds, the Reality Stone tears the fabric of space apart and latches uncontrollably onto whoever it can. If I can gather them together, I can ensure they are never used improperly again." Thanos smiled warmly. "It seems as though you can detect them. Perhaps we can work together."

"Perhaps. Would you permit us to delay you a while while we discuss the matter among ourselves?" Riker asked the question in a way that appended a silent "if not, you can leave" to the end of it. 

"Of course," Thanos said. This time, his smile was a little strained. Reasonable, Tasha supposed, but still troubling.

Riker turned to address the bridge crew. "We have to figure this out quick. I don't know about you, but I'm not eager to pick a fight with that thing. Captain Picard should be here soon. Let's show him some progress."

+----+

"Wesley?" Wesley squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over. 

"Mom, it's 0500!" He complained, but a combadge was pressed into his hand. 

"Wesley?" Came Lieutenant Yar's voice. "Are you listening?"

Wesley sat up groggily. "What is it, sir?"

"We need information quickly," Yar said. "A starship just entered orbit with us. It's under the command of an alien calling himself Thanos. He's carrying two singularities like the ones in New York, and he claims one was in the possession of what sounds like this Loki who attacked Earth. Your mother has the details on a PADD for you. Your orders are to find out whether we can trust him."

"Sir," Wesley said, "that's going to be hard. What am I supposed to do?"

"Take the risk," Yar said. "You're authorized to ask Parker to contact Stark for you."

Wesley's eyes widened. He got out of bed and hurriedly grabbed the PADD from his mother. "Yes sir," he said. "The Prime Directive still applies?"

"It always will," Yar assured him.

+----+

"All right, kid, you've got about ten seconds to make getting two hours of sleep worth it," Tony growled into the phone. 

"One of the people who sent the intruders into Wakanda wants to talk to you," the voice of Peter Parker told him. 

Tony sat up fast enough that Pepper, usually a sound sleeper, jostled awake and scolded him. He ignored her outrage. "The people from the ship?"

"I think so, Mister Stark." Parker sounded unsettled. "What he's telling me sounds like it."

Tony rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Thirty minutes," he said. "That park down the road from your building."

"Can you call my school and tell them I'm meeting you for the internship, Mister Stark? I can't call in sick again."

Tony groaned. Why had he volunteered to work with a teenager?

+----+

Wesley was doing it on purpose. He'd woken Peter up at quarter after five to tell him he needed to talk to Mister Stark right away, and it was starting to feel a bit overwhelming. Peter wasn't entirely stable when it came to Wesley to begin with, and here he was heading for the park with him and his concerned mother and the guy who Wesley had confessed wasn't any kind of relative to him. 

A quick text to Doctor Strange had assembled all the best sources of knowledge Peter could gather, and he was off to meet the wizard and the billionaire, sent out by Aunt May with a sleepy "you show the Rhino what's what, Peter."

Doctor Strange appeared in the entrance to the park, stepping out of a glowing round portal that vanished behind him. "That's fairly impressive," Miles said from behind Peter. He'd only heard him talk once or twice before, and the accent still surprised him. 

"He just teleported and it's just fairly impressive?" Peter said.

"If he'd actually teleported, I'd be jumping up and down and cheering. That was a Cochrane Bridge. An unstable wormhole that takes a ridiculous amount of power to open, since you're basically telling physics to sit down and shut up."

"I think he's _wearing_ the singularity," Wesley said in astonished tones. 

"It matches the description Data gave us," Wesley's mom said. 

Doctor Strange's deep voice carried across to them. "I consulted an oracle last night. She told me that I would watch the fate of the world decided today. I am... Apprehensive to discover it may be in your hands, Spider-Man."

Peter groaned as he stepped into the park. "Why does everyone assume I'm irresponsible."

"Probably something to do with the mask and the fights," Wesley said.

+----+

The ship that pulled Jean Luc out of warp was about seven times the size of the _Enterprise,_ lined with lights and intimidating as hell. The tractor beam wasn't as strong as the ship's size suggested, but it was well beyond what his shuttlecraft could escape, a near-invisible beam of pale yellow light. He tried to fight the beam, but was released before he had fully absorbed his situation. His companel trolled at him and he answered nervously. "Picard here."

Will's face appeared on the little screen. "Captain, are you okay?"

"A little rattled. Will, who is that?" Jean Luc glanced out at the huge ship.

"It's the _Sanctuary II._ Its commander is a gentleman who goes by the name 'Thanos.' He thought you were a superluminal missile aimed for us." Will looked a little frazzled, his eyes underlined with dark circles, his beard ill-trimmed and his hair slightly flyaway.

"Go get cleaned up, Number One," Jean Luc said. "I'll take command."

"Yes, sir," Will said. "I'll have Data send you our summary of the situation. Thank you, sir."

+----+

Will stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He'd trimmed up his beard with a safety razor and and gotten a twenty-minute catnap, and he was in no way fresh and ready for the day, but he had to keep going. Once he was dressed, he tapped his combadge. He could at least work with Deanna. "Counselor Troi, please join me on the bridge," he said wearily. 

Silence. "Counselor Troi? Deanna?" Still silence. Will went from exhausted concern to controlled panic in seconds. "Computer, locate Deanna Troi," he commanded.

"Deanna Troi is in her quarters," the computer informed him. 

Will headed out the door and down the corridor. He hit the chime on Deanna's quarters, but again, there was no reply. He overrode the lock, and there she was, sprawled out on the floor. He hurried to her, crouching down to check her pulse and breathing a long sigh of relief when she turned out not to be dead. "Medical emergency in Counselor Troi's quarters," he announced, slapping his combadge again. 

+----+

"If I had known you had such a strong empath aboard, I would have warned you," Thanos said. "It's one of the prices of what I'm doing with the Infinity Stones. With just the Soul Stone, touching my mind directly could be fatal. At this distance, she must have concentrated to be so injured. She should awaken in a few days." He looked concerned, and Jean Luc was inclined to believe he was genuine in that concern, especially after Thanos explained exactly who and what Loki was. 

"I thank you for the explanation," Jean Luc said. "We're waiting to hear from our ground teams, so please, be patient."

"Naturally," Thanos ground out. He cut the communication and Jean Luc was about to retreat to his ready room when Worf announced "Doctor Crusher's team is hailing us."

Jean Luc sighed. "Let's hear it, then," he said. The turbolift doors opened up and Will stepped in, taking his seat as Wesley Crushed began to report. 

"Loki, Thor, and Hulk are all known elements, sir," he said. "Thor is unpredictable and powerful, and Hulk is erratic and extremely dangerous. He's been beaten in single combat only once, by a system designed specifically to fight him. That said, they're both members of a group called the Avengers. The Avengers are dedicated to defending Earth. It's Loki that's disturbing."

"In what way, ensign?" Jean Luc asked.

"Captain!" Wesley exclaimed in surprise. "Uh... Loki is literally the old Norse trickster god. He's already attacked Earth with two Infinity Stones, and his first assault on the planet was carried out by usurping the power of Asgard's king in a plot to destroy his brother."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, ensign, but isn't Loki's brother Thor?"

"Yes, sir. There's some disagreement as to his current disposition."

"He means Doctor Strange has been yelling at Mister Stark for twenty minutes about it," another voice broke in with gentle good humor. He sounded like another teenaged boy, and he only laughed when Wesley scolded him. 

"Peter, honestly!" Wesley exclaimed. "Sorry sir, trouble with the natives." Jean Luc stifled a laugh. At least young Wesley was having fun. "Doctor Strange was the last to see either of them, and he says Loki seemed well in hand, but belligerent. Apparently, he'd attacked Odin, taken his memories away, and left him on Earth. Strange claims he felt the effects of Ragnorak some time later, but if Thor and Loki are still alive, it didn't happen the way it was supposed to."

"The fact that Earth isn't a lifeless wasteland also seems to contradict that theory," Jean Luc said drily. 

"That's what I said!" Peter exclaimed.

Jean Luc buried his face in one hand. "I suppose there's an even chance that Thor is in control and everything is fine or Loki is in control and we have a serious problem?"

"Yes, sir," Wesley said. "And if Thor is in control, Thanos lied to us and needs to be stopped."

Jean Luc frowned. "There is only one thing to be done. We wait for Thor to arrive. Thank you, ensign." 

"Glad to have you back, sir," Wesley said. 

The transmission cut off. Jean Luc turned to Worf. "Hail Thanos." Worf called up the other ship, and Thanos appeared again. "Thanos," Jean Luc said. "There is... Some disagreement about the true disposition of Loki and Thor. We intend to investigate more fully and would like any data you have on the politics of this galaxy to help us decide. Would you be agreeable?"

"Nothing is free, captain," Thanos chuckled, "but satisfy my curiosity about your home and we can trade. For history and politics, I'll ask you for the same."

"Gladly," Jean Luc said happily. "Mister Data, Mister Worf, make it so."

"This will take several hours to assemble, sir," Data warned. 

"Then hop to it, Mister Data," Jean Luc smiled. "Part of our mission is peaceable contact with other spacefaring peoples. This is an excellent first step."

+----+

"Part of our mission is to gather staunch allies. This is an excellent first step." Thor smiled at Drax and clapped him on the shoulder. 

"An enemy of Thanos is probably a good thing to keep handy," Peter Quill said, "when you are an enemy of Thanos. I'm just flattered you came to me and my crew." He looked around at the fleet around them. "Of course, it might be the Ravagers owin' me a favor is what swayed you. You know, they mostly came to protect the Power Stone. If Thanos had gone for Xandar first, they wouldn't have been able to stop him, but I think they feel like they went to enough trouble stopping one psycho from taking over the universe with an Infinity Stone, and they don't want to have to try to stop someone even scarier than Ronan was, and they especially don't want to have to stop him while he's got three of them."

"I suppose the fact that one of them is the Time Stone helped convince them to assemble the fleet?" Loki growled. 

Thor smiled disarmingly at Quill and shot his brother a dirty look at the same time. It was a trick they'd both picked up as children, feuding quietly while they reassured their parents that nothing was wrong. 

"The point is," Rocket said, stepping up to the assembled men, "with every last asshole we have gathered here, we have a better-than-even chance of taking down Thanos' ship in a fight. It's gonna be us or him, though, and we gotta move fast. So let's stop standing around patting each other on the back because we pretended to not be total jackasses long enough to agree to beat the crap out of somebody else and just go pound in Thanos' huge purple face."

Thor laughed, nearly doubling over. "Asking them for help was genius, brother," he admitted reluctantly. "They are all amusingly ill-tempered. It's very refreshing."

Peter Quill grinned. "I choose to feel complimented," he said. He picked up his ship's communications microphone. "Now let's get this show on the road." He spoke into the microphone. "Step on it, guys," he said. 

The Ravager fleet jumped, and they followed, the _Statesman_ dragged along behind the _Quadrant_ through a jump point and then rushing at top speed as the ships separated. As they approached, Thor watched the instruments. Where there should only have been Thanos' ship, two ships hid behind the Moon. The unexpected one was silvery grey, with graceful curves and a strange, squat body. Two ships instead of one, and both vast and powerful. 

What they were flying into, Thor would once have called glory, but now it just looked like chaos and death.

+----+

"Thanos' database calls them Ravagers," Doctor Crusher's definitely-not-Bluetooth device said. "They're pirates. Pretty infamous ones, too."

"I guess that settles it," she said. "If Thor brought a fleet of pirates to attack Thanos, that's probably Loki's interference."

Steven squeezed down on the bridge of his nose. "I'm telling you, this is not what it seems. It would be incredibly foolish to gather all of the Infinity Stones if Thanos' true goal were the protection of others, and we have more reason to trust Thor than we have to trust the man who wants to take power that we have."

"Not to mention he apparently wants to rip Vision apart to get at his little forehead sparkly," Spider-Man said. "And I think the best place to keep a time machine is with the person who least wants to use it."

"The point is moot," Stark said pompously from inside his suit. "We have to protect Earth. You didn't get any vibranium from Wakanda, did you?"

"No," Crusher's ally said. 

"Then I'll call up T'challa and have him send your agent where you can get her. You leave us alone, we let your people go, none of us ever have this conversation again." Stark's flippant speech was grating, and Steven wondered if the Ancient One had foreseen this, too. Not for the first time, he wished she'd left him with a handbook for the future. 

"You have a bit more than an hour," came the reply. 

+----+

"Another Cochrane Bridge, sir," Worf said. "This one between Wakanda and Stark Tower in New York." He watched his readings for a moment, then added, "ensign Juarez appears to have crossed to New York."

Captain Picard sagged with visible relief, even as he kept his eyes on the approaching fleet of pirates. "Hail Thanos again," he said. 

Worf tapped at his controls. Thanos appeared on the screen. "Captain Picard," he acknowledged. "Your home makes for interesting reading. I believe I can take you back there if you'll come with me to the anomaly."

Picard froze for just an instant. Then he sagged just a little further. "Thank you, for all of your help. We were at an unfortunate impasse before you came along."

"From what you've told me, the Infinity Stones on Earth are well-contained. Less of a problem than I feared. I can afford to indulge my curiosity about your home."

"Excellent," Picard said. "Since combat seems inevitable, we should discuss tactics."

An alarm started going off on Data's console. "Captain," Data exclaimed, "a core element of the pirate fleet has shifted to superluminal velocity. They will arrive in thirty seconds."

"They're making a run for Earth, sir," Lieutenant Yar blurted.

"Mister Worf, maintain the voice link, let's get them onscreen." The captain straightened up abruptly. "Helm, get us in close to the planet. Thanos, can you cover against that fleet for a while?"

"I can," Thanos affirmed as his face was replaced by the encroaching pirates. "Your shields are better than mine, though. Don't be gone long."

"Excellent," Picard said. "Shields up, lock phasers on targets. Shoot to disable if you can, Mister Worf."

+----+

"Evade, evade, evade!" Starlord shouted, watching his allies as they went roaring through the pattern of crazy-ass laser fire the curvy ship was laying down. It looked like some weirdo had stuck the classic UFO design on top of some weird space yacht and blown it up to monstrous size, then stretched it out horizontally. It was _not_ a good look.

One of the lasers caught a Ravager ship solidly, one of the m-ship escorts they had brought along. Its engines flared and died, and Starlord winced as it spun out of control. 

"Look, Quill, there is writing on the ship," Drax exclaimed, pointing. Starlord turned to look at it and nearly failed to avoid a laser blast. "That's in ENGLISH," he yelled. He slipped the _Quadrant_ around the enemy ship and started paying closer attention to the words painted on the hull. A huge oval scar on the top of the flying-saucer part marred its clean lines and framed huge letters and numbers. Starlord read off, "NCC-1701-D, USS Enterprise." He arced back around and punched the acceleration hard, blazing for the planet he hadn't seen in decades. "If they're trying to defend Earth with that thing, they've got the wrong enemies."

"We are their enemies, are we not?" Drax asked. 

Starlord's answer was cut short by a shout from Loki. "I've found both Stones! They're... shit..."

"Location, man!" Starlord squawked.

"Stark Tower, New York," Loki grumbled. 

Thor burst out laughing. "You hate going back to the site of a defeat," he cackled. "You are going to be uncomfortable, and I'm going to enjoy it."

"First we have to get there," Starlord objected. "That might be hard. These guys are good."

"No fighters, though," Rocket said.

Starlord smirked to himself. "Yeah, I can use that," he muttered. 

+----+

Wesley hurried to the balcony as the reports of the battle overhead streamed in. He leaned out, far enough that Peter apparently decided to play safety railing, grabbing his hand. The _Enterprise_ was a distant, wobbly glint in the sky, surrounded by a swarm of darker, smaller specks and lashing out at them with nearly-invisible threads of phaser fire. The ship's shields flared, a blue haze around it, and then one of the specks erupted into a tiny fireball. A flash indicated the detonation of photon torpedo, and a streak of fire showed where one of the pirates had been forced by the move to break off. 

"Are they coming here?" Wesley asked. 

"The Stones," Stark exclaimed. "They detected the stones!" He hurried out onto the balcony with Wesley, and pulled out some device from his pocket, tapping furiously away at it. He held it up to his face and spoke into it. "C'mon, Steve, pick up pick up pick up!"

Vision, the android Stark had introduced them to, went flying out over the edge of the balcony, looking upward and firing a yellow beam out of his head even as pieces of armor began attaching themselves to Stark. 

"Oh, thank God," Stark gasped as his device dropped to the ground and his helmet sealed itself on his head. "Rogers, we have a full-blown alien invasion going on here," he began, but his armor finished flying to him then and he took off.

"Aw jeez, what do I do?" Peter said, tugging Wesley back towards the building. 

"Be patient," Doctor Strange urged him. "The oracle said I would watch the fate of the world be decided. That means I will see the decision happen, whether it is the key point in a battle or an actual decision. It means my actions will not make the decision. Therefore, we wait."

Ensign Juarez cleared her throat. "You're listening to an oracle?"

"I would once have been more doubtful than you," Doctor Strange said solemnly, "but she is precise and consistent, and has never been incorrect. I am afraid the world is quite a bit wider than your narrow, scientific view."

Vision had joined the fray in earnest as the ships drew closer. Stark was deploying some sort of drones, hovering over the city. The _Enterprise_ was slowing down, her shields a fiery orb as the Ravagers outpaced her. The Prime Directive, Wesley observed, was pretty much shredded. A phaser blast stabbed out of the orb of flames and pierced one of the ships, continuing on to lance into New York Harbor like a bolt of lightning as big around as a skyscraper. The noise was incredible, a solid wall of sound that knocked Wesley around. 

The upcoming court martials would be a fascinating blend of heroic adventure stories and classified material. Wesley wondered if he was going to go to prison. 

As the _Enterprise_ bled off velocity, another phaser blast hit one of the ships heading towards them, a hunched, insectile affair with huge windows. The ship began belching smoke, twisting hard in the air, but whoever was flying it knew their stuff; it stabilized and kept coming. It blew past Vision without the slightest wobble and headed directly for Stark. 

Several of the smaller ships roared on a screaming loop around Stark's drones, taking potshots here and there at the little things while they herded them into groups, which were culled mercilessly three times before the drones inflicted enough damage to fend them off. A second wave of fresh fighters came in on their heels, carrying the drones as the insectile ship slowed to face Stark. 

"Wow," Peter said. "That's something not even I see every day."

Stark faced off with the ship for a moment, and then darted around behind it. Whoever was flying was apparently still not missing a trick, and dropped immediately, powering downwards and away from Stark, but still taking hits from the truly impressive arsenal in his suit.

The ship streamed smoke, diving straight towards them, and drew up level with the balcony. An odd assemblage of people rushed out, and then the ship roared back into the sky, covering everything in thick smoke. By the time the wind snatched the smoke away, the ship was a starburst of flames and smoke at the end of a tattered trail. 

Wesley backed away. The crew that faced him was not a friendly-looking one. A man in a leather jacket, with two guns and a glowing-eyed helmet, a long-haired, angular man with a face made to smirk, a powerfully built blond wearing a cape and holding two swords, and an even bigger, tattooed man with a pair of wickedly curved knives. 

"Thor," Doctor Strange said. "You changed your hair."

A flurry of activity overhead showed Wesley the _Enterprise_ being attacked, and moving upwards, defending herself admirably now that the fighting wasn't on a field that would result in a miss demolishing a swath of New York. 

The blond stepped forward. A rumbling series of explosions sounded from far overhead. "Did you know what was going to happen?" He asked.

"I knew some," Doctor Strange admitted as Stark landed behind the intruders. 

"Nice haircut, Thor," Stark said. "Mind explaining why you showed up with the pixie queen of murder and his traveling pirate sideshow?"

There was a dull clink, and Stark was thrown forward by an explosion, slamming into the far wall as what looked to be a raccoon wearing a flight suit landed in his place, leveling a sizable gun at them.

A tense silence followed. 

"Rocket, for the love of god, what's your problem?" The man with the guns snapped. 

"He is impulsive and disagreeable," the tattoed one answered. 

"I am an asshole, thank you very much," the raccoon, apparently Rocket, said, which went against several things that Wesley knew about raccoons. 

"Did that raccoon just talk?" Peter asked. Wesley looked at him and burst out laughing. Peter still had a tight grip on Wesley's hand, and Wesley wasn't planning to let go any time soon. 

And into all that chaos came Captain Picard's voice. "We've chased off the Ravagers. Away team, prepare for extraction."

Wesley stared at Peter. "I guess..." He let go of Peter's hand. "I guess this is it."

Juarez, Miles, and Wesley's mother headed for a door, and Wesley frowned, but followed. 

"Is Thanos coming after us?" The big blond asked. 

Wesley nearly froze as he stepped over the threshold of the door. He turned. Doctor Strange was looking at him. "Probably not. I think these guys can handle you." Wesley said.

The big man and his entire crew looked deeply relieved.

"Is one of you Loki?" Wesley asked.

"I am," the smirky one said.

Wesley thought about that for a moment.

If Loki was manipulating Thor, it would make more sense for him to stay out of sight and away from combat. He was being treated more like a prisoner than anything else. They had had the opportunity to attack Vision, who was definitively carrying an Infinity Stone, but had passed it up. In fact, no one from the ground had been attacked.

The door closed. 

"I think we've been had," Wesley said. "Loki looked relieved Thanos wasn't coming."

"He doesn't want to face Thanos one on one," Miles said.

Wesley nodded, but he was certain he was right.

The transporter took him, and Wesley looked around the transporter room. He arranged himself to be behind the others and told his mother he was going to go to engineering to see if they needed any help with repairs. He took off the opposite direction to the others, then doubled back and returned to the transporter. He proceeded very deliberately, but quickly. A program to alter the records after he was out, a destination, and he took off his combadge and set the transporter. They would think he'd tried to go back and accidentally killed himself with a malfunction, or they would for long enough to give him time to solve the problem. His mother would be furious if she ever found out and heartbroken if she didn't, but if he was right, the world was at stake, and possibly more than just one world. 

He transported back, arriving just as Thor wound down some speech or another with "all the Infinity Stones, he'll be unstoppable."

"Omnipotent," Doctor Strange said. Wesley stepped out of the shadows. "It's in the nature of the Stones. They were part of the foundation of the universe."

Wesley stopped and shuddered as the realization hit him. "What do you mean?" He asked. 

Doctor Strange was the only one who didn't jump. He just turned smoothly. "They are six singularities that formed with the universe, created by its very nature."

Wesley felt all the blood drain from his face. "That means... There's a theory about alternate universes. The further back a thing is in time, the more likely it is to exist in two universes. If the Infinity Stones are really that old, then they exist in my universe, too."

"You're from another universe?" Peter sounded mildly outraged. 

"I don't think anyone ever discovered the Infinity Stones in my universe," Wesley said. "I think Thanos is after them."

He ran outside and looked up at the sky, just in time to catch the faint flare of the _Enterprise_ jumping to warp.

"And I think we have a big problem," Rocket said, following Wesley's gaze, "because we ain't got no way to catch up to them."

"Aaaand we're all gonna die," Peter said. "Fantastic."

+----+

This, May Parker thought as Peter brought a shellshocked-looking Wesley into the apartment, was turning out to be a weird day, even for her. This late into the evening, she'd half expected Peter to call and say he'd joined the Avengers, but of course, instead he'd adopted a stray from another universe. 

May considered that life had been much simpler before she had a family. 

Peter got his guest set up on the top bunk of his bed, then went for the shower. May stepped into his room, where Wesley was sitting on the top bunk. "Sorry about him," she said. "Peter isn't great at guests."

"Oh, it's not a problem, ma'am," Wesley said. "I'm just... Terrified, I guess."

"By what?" She asked.

"I broke the biggest rule of my society. And I have to break it more in order to save anyone."

"You can do this," May said, "and you don't have to do it alone. Peter is with you, and Mister Stark and the Avengers, and all sorts of important people."

Wesley was quiet for a long time. As Peter turned off the shower, he finally spoke again. "They're remarkable people. Miles and I had a bet. I started an argument over Fermat's Last Theorem. I said we should look it up and see if there was a proof, but he said it was impossible for a society this underdeveloped to have the solution."

"He was wrong," Peter said. "Fermat's Last Theorem was solved twenty-four years ago."

Wesley stared at the door to the room. Peter, May had to admit, had been done a world of good by the whole Spider-Man thing. He was bare-chested, probably very aware of the fact that it put his prime-of-youth body on full display for Wesley. Wesley, for his part, was certainly aware, if the color he turned was any indication. 

"It was?" Wesley said. "How?"

Peter stepped into the room, tossing his towel in the corner to leave him in nothing but boxers. "I did an essay about it last year. I'll show you." He sat at his computer and started looking through his files until he pulled up a text document and leaned back. Wesley jumped down from the top bunk and leaned over Peter to read, resting one hand on Peter's shoulder, his face nestled up against Peter's, probably not a conscious display of affection.

Wesley read quickly, if the speed he was going through Peter's absurdly complicated essay was any indication. "This is brilliant work," he said. "Innovative."

Peter blushed too, and May cleared her throat just to remind them she was there. Wesley jumped and turned to look at her. "Wesley," she said, "why don't you sleep on the couch tonight? We can figure out what to do with you tomorrow."

Peter and Wesley exchanged a look of surprised consternation. "Uh... Yeah," Wesley said. "Okay. I have to write down everything I know about warp mechanics tonight, anyway. I should keep you up, Peter."

"Okay," Peter said. He turned off the computer and pulled a thick notebook out of one of his desk drawers, handing it to Wesley. "Why did you come back?" He asked.

Wesley gripped the notebook. May could see his knuckles white with the tension. "I couldn't leave you to face whatever Thanos was planning alone. You and MJ are... You're important, and I could help you."

"You couldn't do that from the _Enterprise?"_ Peter asked. 

Wesley paled a little. "I... Could probably have done it better. But... I guess... I guess I came back for you, really."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "For me?"

"For both of you," Wesley admitted. 

Peter leaned forward and crushed Wesley into a kiss, fierce and passionate and _close,_ their arms wrapped around each other's bodies. 

"Good," Peter said when he let Wesley go. "We'll talk about it more tomorrow, right?"

Wesley nodded. He headed into the living room and opened the notebook to the first page. May grabbed a pencil off Peter's desk and brought it out to Wesley. "You want coffee?"

"Pepsi?" Wesley asked hopefully. 

"You're trying to save the world, so I'll go get you some," May conceded.

+----+

Beverly slumped into her chair, boneless and exhausted. Gone. Wesley was gone, and Jack was gone, it was all gone. Her eyes drifted closed, and she fell asleep somewhere in there. When she woke up, it was to find Jean Luc in her quarters, sitting by her bedside with a cup of tea and a sympathetic frown. 

Her head hurt like hell, and she was terrified that she had broken at last, just completely shattered. "How long?" She asked, her throat raspy. 

"You didn't answer a call to your quarters this morning," Jean Luc said. "We've been taking turns sitting with you. Nurse Ogawa says you picked up an ancient strain of influenza. Nobody wanted you to wake up alone." He sipped his tea. "I, particularly, didn't want you to wake up alone."

"Oh," she said. "Jean Luc. I... I can't keep going like this. All I have left is Starfleet. And that won't last, not after the way this turned out. Most of the command staff is going to be discharged. Our careers are over."

Jean Luc stared at her for a few moments. "You're still one hell of a doctor. You'll be fine. I'll be in prison, of course. Will may have started it, but I'm the one who flew a Galaxy Class starship into combat twelve kilometers from pre-warp New York. I'm lucky there's no death penalty."

Beverly chuckled darkly. "We were defending a planetary target against superior numbers. Jean Luc, you fought at Kinto, didn't you? You know how that ends if you try to engage at a distance."

"Do you know why Wesley tried to leave yet?" Beverly asked. 

"The evidence suggests it was to be with that boy, or possibly because he believed Thanos was an enemy."

"Our dealings haven't been smooth, but he seems helpful enough," Beverly said. 

"I just hope he was wrong," Jean Luc replied into the dim light of her quarters. His eyes tracked to the window, and she knew without having to look that _Sanctuary II_ was out there. "I would hate for the last trace of his preternatural intelligence to be a tragedy and a warning ignored."

+----+

Tony leafed through the notebook, his brain running faster than it usually did. He closed it and set it down. "A terawatt and a half." He slid the notebook over to Wesley. "I can push a couple of gigawatts out of the Starc Reactor. We could maybe find a way to put a couple terawatts in one place, but it's not gonna be mobile. My mini arc reactors use post-trans-uranics to produce as much power as they do."

"That's okay," Wesley said. "You'll solve that problem by convincing Wakanda to build it. They can synthesize the tritanium and zenthenite you need. We need the tricobalt, dilithium, and duranium to make it work, anyway. A tritanium-zenthenite arc reactor fifty meters across can supply-"

"Eleven terawatts," Tony cut in, "but kid, I can't make Wakanda do anything." 

"If they build based off of my knowledge, with their materials and your AI skills, we'll have something that can tear apart a Klingon battlecruiser and outrun the _Enterprise."_ Wesley grimaced. "Or at least outrun the _Enterprise_ the way she is right now. Those last few warp factors depend pretty heavily on precision of assembly. But the phaser units will outclass anything in my home universe. The tricobalt focusing array... I guess you call it vibranium. That stuff is so rare it's only used for experimental purposes or as a subspace fusion accelerator. The possibilities in using it for weapons construction are actually a little scary."

Tony sighed. "You really think we need this to save the universe?"

Wesley nodded. "At least."

+----+

Wesley slumped against the wall. The whole ordeal had been exhausting, and he'd blown any chance he or Peter had of living a normal life.

MJ was never going to live a normal life in the first place. Stark had sent Peter along with him to Wakanda without really consulting anyone else, and Peter had asked to bring MJ, and MJ had convinced her parents to let her go, and the three of them had barely had a chance to talk over the last three days. Shuri was frightening, and brilliant, and Wesley was just a little freaked out by everything still, especially the bits where he had no clue how to return to the Federation or if he wanted to. This place was his new home, but he had a duty to the old one.

Peter rounded the corner. Wesley straightened up. 

"He's over here," Peter yelled. "Just escaped Darth Shuri."

"You're such a dork," MJ said, following Peter. "Hey Wesley! You wanna go to the overlook deck at the Spiral and make out with us?"

Wesley was a little too exhausted to string social thoughts together right then, but he did blurt out "I thought we all had to sit down and talk first."

"You wanna date him?" MJ asked, pointing to Peter. Wesley nodded. "You wanna date me?" She added. Wesley nodded again. "You want me and him to date each other?"

"Yes," Wesley managed.

"Great," MJ said. "That solves the first part. Let's talk details at the Spiral."

Wesley shrugged. He was actively breaking the Prime Directive, illegally passing technology to a foreign power, and deserting from Starfleet. "What the hell?" Wesley said. "I'm not teaching warp physics to a bunch of supergeniuses for another few hours. Let's go."


End file.
